
. .<y 



,' -0 “%, C ' „0 "% . 

i. v' -l*”- ^ ^ ^ 




* 4 > • 

‘ ^ A <- '« • * 

* -6 ' 




>» ^ ♦ 

•--«'“ y “v *"’■ 

^ ’' • O ^ c > 




^ ».<■’* \.' 



i, ^ B ^ 




o^ • • . ' • V * » . « ’ .V °^. " ' 



lO »/■ 


< o 

o ^ 

%> * O N 0 ’ 

• • . ^ •v ^ V 



'^OV . 

*0 »7*', * 

^ o N 0 ^ 

^ , 



\ :mM°. 

'O. *'» ,6^ A 'O,*- A 

,6^ c ° " ® -» "^O t • ' ' * ^ 

C •^£55^^''.. ^ A * J0-((]7^^ ^ y. ^ 



<A <'^ 

. O V 



• » 1 


c^ A- ~^<yC/U ') ^ ^ 

°4, A° ^ 

V.O, ^ V C' A 

o ^ - V V • ^ 

♦ 'V '** ^^^-4 ‘oy 

A <"^ 'o, A A O A 

y» 4^ «'■'•-« '*^V4 O^ & ° ® -» O • * “ -» 






t ' » 






cP v*^’* 

- S • • O' V A • 

• '•®iP*‘' AA- *•> 

o’^ c”j.>Ao, A t-‘j,:-A'f‘ '° ‘°"°* 



yT O * ‘-Z^ty/ -j 

cs^ 9^ *' • ' ■• • A® O 

^ Cv * S • • A ^ 






4 O V^ 

'» ^ 

+ Q ^ '*^ 

O H O ■’ A?’ 

> v^ A • 

' ■^'^- A 

Vv ! 

4V o o^vjiy/ o. * 


•X. 


. •) 




cr o A .v./7^ 


* « 


ft ft 









I 


I 

I 

1 

f 


t' 


\ 4 




« 


I 




r 



V 









t 









■ 4 * ' ■ * 


n» 



^■^r. 



« 



% 

n 


# 


« 






! 


r 

• 7 

, m 

►» 


y0 f t 


9 


^ 




« 



« 






I' 



* 






-4 









* 


^ 


1 1 



4 



« 


I • 


•sr 




AUREOLA; 

OR, 


THE BLACK SHEEP. 

of ^ooial ^iff 


BY 




MRS. ADELHEID SHELTON-MACKENZIE. 


AUTHOR OF " MARRIED AGAINST REASON. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

CLAXTON, REMSEN & HAFFELFINGER, 

819 & 821 MARKET STREET. 

1871. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 
CLAXTON, REMSEN & HAFFELFINGER, 
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 


STEREOTYPED BY J. FAGAN t SON. 


# 


( 



CHAPTER I. 

A German Kaffee- Visit 


CHAPTER II. 

In Time 

CHAPTER III. 

The Black Sheep 

CHAPTER IV. 

Receiving some Information 

CHAPTER V. 

A Morning Walk 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Sleigh-Ride .... 

CHAPTER VII. 


PACK 

• 13 


21 


. 29 


• 39 


. 48 


• 57 

. . 69 


♦ 


An Excursion 


IX 


X 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER VIIL 

Old Jacob’s Advice 

CHAPTER IX. 

Tormenting 


PAGE 

77 


. 88 


CHAPTER X. 

For One Year .... 


97 


CHAPTER XI. 

Clearing his Mother’s Room 


107 


CHAPTER XII. 

Sore Hearts 113 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A Proposal 122 


CHAPTER XIV. 

In Stachelberg 


. 128 


CHAPTER XV. 

The Last Hope Gone 


134 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Returned 


140 


CHAPTER XVII. 


Acted Upon 


• 153 


CONTENTS. 


XI 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

PAGB 

A Father’s Confession 159 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Suspense 195 


CHAPTER XX. 

The Cord Severed 


CHAPTER XXI. 

At Last . . . . . . . .213 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Reunited ........ 221 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Carl Waldheim and his Family . . .229 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

The World’s Opinion 245 

I 

CHAPTER XXV. 

The Wedding 249 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

After the Wedding ...... 255 




AUREOLA. 


CHAPTER I. 

A GERMAN KAFFEE-VISIT. 

OME in/’ called a gentle voice. 

“ Good evening, Frau Stadtshult- 
heissin.'*^ The Frau Hofrathin sends 
her compliments, and begs to have 
the pleasure of your company for next Monday, 
to a Kaffee-visit.” 

“My regards to your mistress, and^I do 
myself the honor of accepting her invitation.” 

“Who was here, mamma?” asked a young 
lady, now entering the room. 

“The servant of Frau Hofrathin Brenner, 
to invite me for next Monday.” 

*Frau Stadtshultheissin, Mrs. Mayor; Frau Hofrathin, Mrs. Court- 
councillor; Kaffee-visit, Coffee-party. In Germany the wife is 
always addressed by her husband’s title. 



2 


13 



14 AUREOLA; OR, THE ELACH SHEEP. 

“ Then you must order a new cap for this 
occasion.” 

“ What for, child ? I have three, almost quite 
new. I have worn none of them more than 
three times. They are all of the finest Valen- 
ciennes lace.” 

“No matter, mamma ; those will do for other 
occasions. For this you must have a new one,“ 
and I shall go at once to Madame Binder to 
order it. How about gloves ? Are you well 
provided with that article ? ” 

“ Caroline, you would waste a fortune on 
me. You know that I have all, and much 
more than I need, in point of dress.” 

“ Only in point of dress, mamma ? Now this 
is not quite fair ! ” and the young girl threw 
her arms lovingly around her mother’s neck. 

“ I have all I wish for, my dear. But really 
— about this cap — ” 

“Not a word more ; I go this instant. You 
old darling, do you not know that I wish to 
see you look more handsome than all the others 
who will be there ? ” 

“Well, well, have your way, as in all things, 
you tyrant.” And Mrs. Gutmann followed 
with loving looks the retreating form of her 
only daughter. 

“ How beautiful you look, mamma ! really 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 1 $ 

quite young. Not a wrinkle on your fair skin, 
nor a silver thread in your dark hair ; and your 
eyes are as bright as if you were a young girl. 
Look in the glass, and see whether you cannot 
admire your beautiful cap of finest lace. Look 
at your collar to match, and the dainty ruffles 
around your wrists, peeping like frostwork 
beneath the sleeves ; and then, the folds of 
your black silk fall superbly. Indeed, you are 
fit to go to a wedding ! Here is your reticule. 
I have put your knitting in it. Now, your 
shawl ; and then, your gloves. Give me a kiss, 
and then you must go, for it is two o’clock. 
Be sure to bring home much news ; for, you 
know, a Kaffee-visit is the very well of scandal. 
There, do not hold up your hands in horror. I 
say only what every one knows, and I do not 
mean it as reproach ; on the contrary, I think 
it a dehghtful occupation. Now go.” So 
Mrs. Gutmann departed. 

She had left the house only a few minutes 
when her husband entered. 

“Now, sir, where have you been? You 
missed a great treat : mamma went just now, 
and I can tell you, she looked well — very well 
indeed.” 

“That is what your mother always does. 
She was a beautiful girl when I knew her first, 


l6 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

much more so than you, Miss,” with a gentle 
pinch of her ear. A slight grimace was the 
only answer, while a glance in the large mirror, 
which reached from the floor to the ceiling, 
showed her that she need not be dissatisfied 
with what nature had done for herself. 

“Well, puss, I suppose we have to take our 
coffee alone. Ring for it, please.” 

While one servant brought, on a silver 
waiter, two cups of rare china, and another 
carried the coffee in an urn, Caroline helped 
her father to put on his dressing-gown, brought 
his slippers, drew an easy-chair to the table, 
gave him his pipe, which she had filled at a 
side-table, and, having handed him a burning 
match, sat down to pour out the cheering bev- 
erage. 

“Any news, papa? ” 

“None, except what I read in the news- 
papers. I have been in the reading-room of 
the club-house, and there, as you know, it is 
not allowed to speak except in a whisper, for 
every one is reading. One hears nothing but 
the rustle of turning leaves and an occasional 
low inquiry after this or that paper or maga- 
zine.” 

While father and daughter thus chatted 
over their afternoon coffee, Mrs. Gutmann 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEER. 1/ 

had reached Mrs. Brenner’s house. At the 
entrance she met Mrs. Fisher, wife of a rich 
merchant in Seefeld, and, as the mayor of 
a city stands higher in rank than a mer- 
chant, no matter how wealthy the latter may 
be, there ensued a short dispute as to which of 
the two ladies should take precedence in en- 
tering. 

“ Pray, Mrs. Fisher, walk in.” 

“No, I beg of ^ou, Frau Stadtshultheissin, 
to go in.” 

“ Do not stand upon ceremony, Mrs. Fisher.” 

“ I could not think of it.” 

“Well, then, not to delay any longer, and as 
you insist” — and the Frau Stadtshultheissin 
entered. Woe to Mrs. Fisher if she had done 
so first! 

The table was superbly laid out. All kinds 
of delicacies were spread upon it. Many of 
the guests were already sitting around it, busily 
plying their knitting-needles. Mrs. Brenner 
assisted in receiving the entering ladies. 

At last all were assembled. The table was 
full, and the daughter of the house commenced 
pouring out the coffee, serving it around, while 
her mother offered the cake to her guests. 
(Servants are on these occasions entirely dis- 
pensed with.) Between the sips of the small 

2* B 


l8 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

cups, and the tasting of the “ Kuchen ” (cake), 
a sharp volley of small talk was kept up, such 
a^ inquiring for the different members of the 
family of each lady present. After the table 
was cleared of the first course, rich tarts, 
dainty confectioneries, and costly wines were 
served up instead, and the fingers were again 
industriously occupied with knitting; then the 
tongues recommenced their lively play, and 
every one tried to supply the' company with 
the latest news. 

“So, old Mr. Waldheim is dead at last,” 
said the hostess. 

“ Dead ? ” echoed several voices, in becom- 
ing astonishment. 

“Yes; this morning. Poor old man, he 
must have been nearly seventy years of age. 
He had very little enjoyment of his vast 
wealth. I wonder whether his son came in 
time to see him alive ? ” 

“Wilhelm Waldheim was a great source of 
sorrow to his father,” remarked one of the 
ladies. 

“ Indeed he was,” acquiesced Mrs. Brenner. 
“ Ever since he was a boy of twelve years old 
he did nothing but mischief, and it is not 
likely that, as a man, he will be much better. 
He must be near thirty now.” 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEEP. I9 

“ Perhaps he has done sowing his wild oats,” 
put in a charitably inclined guest. 

“ It is to be hoped so, at all events,” said 
another ; “ and that he will settle down at last, 
giving up his roaming in foreign countries. 
Nice notions and customs he must have ac- 
quired in his wandering and unsteady life ! He 
ought to be very handsome, for both his father 
and mother were extremely well-looking.” 

“The funeral will be ne:?ft Sunday after- 
noon,” said the hostess. “ It will be, undoubt- 
edly, a very large one, for Mr. Waldheim was 
generally esteemed and liked.” 

Other news was now brought forward, and 
dead Mr. Waldheim was put, for the present, 
in the background. Some other family mat- 
ters were discussed, becomingly criticized, and 
conscientiously commented on. This girl’s 
character was taken in pieces, and that one’s 
goings-on closely inspected, until the fair in- 
quisitors had no more to say ; and then the 
party broke up, thanking the hostess for the 
very pleasant afternoon they had spent, and 
hoping soon to have the pleasure of seeing 
her in their houses. 

' Mrs. Gutmann was greeted at her return 
with : Now, mamma, out with it ! I am 

dying with curiosity. What is the news ? ” 


20 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP, 

“ First of all, my dear, since you are so im- 
patient — Mr. Waldheim is dead.” 

“ What ? ” exclaimed Mr. Gutmann ; “ and 
his son — is he back ? ” 

“ I do not know.” 

“ Has he a son, papa ? ” 

“Yes; a daring fellow, but as intelligent as 
one would wish to meet with; generous, to 
a fault; but wild, devilishly wild — as report 
says. That, however, will wear off, when he 
once settles down.” 

“ I did not hear a very good report of him,” 
said Mrs. Gutmann. 

“ Pshaw ! women’s talk — nothing more. 
What do they know about him ? I knew Wil- 
helm when he was a boy : to be sure, I have 
seen him only once since he has grown up, but 
I would bet my head that he will turn out a 
capital fellow, when he once comes home to 
stay among us.” 

“ Is he handsome, papa ? ” 

“ A girl’s question ! ” laughed her father. 
“Wait, until you see him.” 




CHAPTER II. 


IN TIME. 



|EFORE an elegant house, in the most 
fashionable street in Seefeld, a car- 
riage halted. Before the coachman 
had time to jump from his seat the 
door was hastily opened, and a gentleman of 
very foreign aspect alighted. His tall and 
stately figure was wrapped in a long, wide 
travelling-coat, of dark material. His long 
black hair fell down in wavy masses upon his 
shoulders. The flashing, proud eye of gray 
was shaded by long, dark lashes. Bushy 
brows of black gave the whole countenance 
an expression of command ; while the deeply 
bronzed complexion, combined with the flow- 
ing beard and well-kept mustache, might lead 
to the supposition that he was an Italian. 

The entrance of the house was open, and, 
having given some orders to the driver, the 



22 AUREOLA;- OR, THE BLACK SHEEP'. 

gentleman quickly entered. Meeting an old 
servant in the hall, he said : 

“ How do you do, Jacob ? Am I in tirne ? 
How is my father ? ” 

“ Passing away, quickly, Mr. Wilhelm. I am 
glad you have come: Mr. Waldheim is con- 
stantly asking for you.” 

Wilhelm Waldheim — for it was he — gave 
hat and coat to the servant; and, mounting 
the broad, massive staircase, stopped before 
a folding door. He halted a little, and then 
entered his father’s bed-room. Crossing the 
inlaid and beautifully polished floor noiseless- 
ly, he stood beside the dying man’s bedside. 
Bending down, he said, in a low tone: “Father, 
am I in time ? ” 

“ My boy, my son ! ” and the once fiery eyes 
flashed up once more for joy, and the weak 
voice grew strong again, while the almost cold 
hands clasped those of the young man in a 
feeble grasp. 

Looking at him long and lovingly, he asked: 
“ How many years is it, Wilhelm, since I last* 
saw you ? ” 

“ Almost nine, father ; ” and there was re- 
gret in his voice, which did not escape the 
dying man. 

“ Do not grieve, Wilhelm ; you have not 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BEACH SHEEP. 23 

been a bad son ; and although we have not 
seen very much of each other, it was more my 
fault than yours. I knew that if I had let you 
know how lonely I sometimes felt, and how 
often I longed for you, you soon would come 
to stay with me ; but my opinion was that 
young men must see the world — and the more 
of it, the better. It is not good for them to be 
too much at home. Another reason for hav- 
ing you away so long, was my fear that, had 
you been at home, your poor mother would 
have spoilt you : you were her only one ; and 
for that matter, I do not know whether I my- 
self should have been a better hand in bring- 
ing you up. Therefore, I thought the best 
would be to have you away at school. Later, 
when you expressed a wish to travel, I did not 
think it would harm you to gratify your incli- 
nation. As I grew older, I often wished to have 
you with me ; but what could you have done 
here? You enjoyed yourself, as your frequent 
letters told me ; and I suppressed my selfish 
wishes, leaving you where you were happy — 
thinking that it would be time enough for you 
to come home to see the last of me.” 

A sob interrupted the speaker. “ Father, 
father, do not speak thus ; your loving consid- 
eration unmans me. You have been always 


24 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEEP. 

kind and forbearing, while I was thinking only 
of my own pleasure.” 

'‘I had to tell you this, my boy,” Mr. Wald- 
heim continued, his voice growing weaker; 
‘‘ for you might have supposed that I did not 
care sufficiently for you to have you with me. 
But, Wilhelm, if you only knew how constantly 
you were present in my mind ! And now, my 
son, my breath comes shorter, and I must 
hurry with what I have to say. I have made a 
will.” 

“ Father ! ” 

“Yes, yes;” and the voice grew fainter 
from exhaustion — “no blame to you, Wilhelm, 
it is for — the best — believe me.” 

“ I have been extravagant and careless, in 
money matters, I know; but, father, think of 
the disgrace this will be to me. Herey where 
no parent ever makes a will, except on very 
particular provocation — if a child has dis- 
graced himself, if there are no near relations, 
or such like cases — ” 

“ You misunderstand me, my boy — oh ! I can 
no more — I am dying. Wilhelm, it is a mat- 
ter I leave — to your honor: give him — fifty 
thousand gulden; promise, my son — promise. 
You must — you must find the tin box — ” 

The lips kept moving, but no sound issued. 


AUREOLA; OR, THE EL A CAT SHEER. 2$ 

The eyes were looking beseechingly into Wil- 
helm’s, and their expression was so painful, 
so plainly wishing to receive some assurance 
from the young man, that, although he was 
in entire ignorance of the meaning of those 
broken sentences, he said, putting his mouth 
close to his father’s ear : “ I will try all I can to 
find out the meaning of your words. I prom- 
ise you, father.” 

A look of relief came into the dying man’s 
eyes, and Wilhelm thought he noticed a faint 
smile of satisfaction play around his lips. 

The lips closed, the breath came slower, the 
hand he held grew cold — a few minutes more, 
and — Mr. Waldheim was dead. 

The son sat by the bedside, he knew not 
how long, holding the icy hand of the deceased 
tenderly in his. With mingled feelings of 
grief and remorse, he looked upon the still 
form of him who, in life, had so unselfishly 
cared for him — longing in his old age for his 
company, yet suppressing that wish for his 
son’s benefit. And Ae — Wilhelm — never 
once had he thought, in his pleasures and 
amusements, that the old father at home might 
be lonely, and pining for his presence. Re- 
peatedly he pressed the now stiffening fingers 
to his lips ; and folding the hands reverently 
3 


26 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

upon the breast — now at rest for ever — he 
passed silently from the room. 

In the hall he encountered old Jacob, who, 
with tears in his honest eyes, came to persuade 
him to take some refreshments, as he must be 
• in need of them, having travelled so far. Wil- 
helm consented, feeling faint and weary, from 
want of rest and food. 

Again left to himself, his thoughts resumed 
another turn, bringing back to him the strange, 
incoherent words his dying father had spoken, 
evidently in great anxiety to be understood, 
and in agony at perceiving that he was unable 
to explain his meaning. He pictured to him- 
self the entreating, almost pleading look of the 
dark eyes, and the faint smile and pleased ex- 
pression of the closing orbs when he gave the 
promise to make out the meaning of the unfin- 
ished sentences. He thought — but in vain. 
He was expected to give fifty thousand gulden 
to some one : but to whom ? A male — this 
much he knew ; but neither his name, his age, 
nor his whereabouts. It must be a debt of 
honor; but, if so, why had his father, not paid 
it long ago ? He certainly had had the money 
to do so. He also had spoken of a tin box. 
Where could he find it? He resolved to 
search for it this very night ; for that box, he 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 2 / 

had no doubt, contained the explanation his 
father was unable to give. Then the will ! Here 
was another puzzle. How would it be con- 
strued by the world ? and why had one been 
made at all ? That he, Wilhelm, would give 
handsomely to the servants, and not let him- 
self be found niggardly in that respect, his 
father must have known well enough. The 
deceased certainly had not any intention of 
disgracing his child, or else he would not, 
in his last moments, have spoken as he had. 
There must, therefore, be another cause. Wil- 
helm chafed inwardly at the thought how 
people would judge, if it got noised about. 
All his thinking, however, could not alter the 
case, and he resolved to let everything have 
its course : people’s talk would stop of itself. 
What would it matter if he should be a nine- 
days’ wonder? He need not care — and 
would show that he did not. 

His search proved wholly unsatisfactory ; 
for although he emptied drawers and boxes, 
opened desks and closets, searched bureaus 
and shelves, his attempt to discover a clue to 
his father’s words were in vain. Therefore 
he intended to leave it to time and chance, 
and his own ever-watchful eye, to notice every 
little incident that might turn up to unravel 
the mystery. 


28 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEER. 

If the knowledge that his father had made a 
testament puzzled Wilhelm^ the will itself, after 
having been opened and read, astonished him 
still more. 

“I, Carl Wilhelm Waldheim, being in per- 
fect health of mind and body, bequeath aU my 
property, real and personal, to my beloved son, 
Carl Wilhelm Waldheim.’' This was the will, 
with no other clause, nor codicil. And, for all 
Wilhelm knew, it might have been left un- 
done ; as by law every thing would have come 
to him, will or no wilL Why, then, did his 
father make one ? A mere freak, he suggested 
to his lawyer ; and that worthy shrugged his 
shoulders, and said he supposed it could have 
been nothing else* 




CHAPTER III. 


THE BLACK SHEEP. 



|AROLINE GUTMANN was pointed 
out, in her circle, as “ the Black 
Sheep.” But she was not thus des- 
ignated for a vicious disposition, 
badness of character, want of womanliness 
or lady-like behavior, or for being in any way 
deficient in intellect, gentleness, or goodness 
of heart. No ; it was simply for having the 
courage to set her face defiantly against such 
customs of the country as she considered 
absurd ; for acting as she felt, and for speak- 
ing as she thought ; for expressing her opinion, 
when there was occasion, without any regard to 
person, station, or rank ; for confessing bold- 
ly that she respected nothing but goodness and 
old age ; but, as for bowing slavishly before 
the shrine of Custom, or submitting meekly 

3 * 29 


30 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEEP. 

to foolish rules of Society — these were things 
she would know nothing of. Let those be 
slaves to them who chose — she would be 
free ! with her spirit unfettered by bonds so 
absurdly valued. People might speak of her, 
point her out, comment on her actions — she 
would not grudge them that pleasure, but 
would even willingly provide them with themes 
for their beloved Kaffee-visiten. 

Besides this first title she had yet another, 
more pleasing and much more appropriate. 
She was often called “ Aureola,” (Ray of Gold,) 
and well she deserved this beautiful pet name, 
given to her by those who knew, loved, and 
admired her^ although they might condemn 
her opinions. 

Of surpassing loveliness, Caroline took 
hearts by storm, when the radiant vision pre- 
sented itself before them ; for, who could 
withstand the glance of her glorious eyes of 
heavenly blue, shaded by those long, golden 
lashes? who could look unmoved upon the 
sylphlike form, with motions of such perfect 
grace and elegance, or see her hair, rippling 
over her shoulders, shining like a network of 
purest gold, framing, as it were, her lovely 
face in a ray of gold ? The transparent skin, 
as fair as snow, and as smooth as satin ; the 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 3I 

delicate flush, that dyed the dimpled cheek ; 
the expressive mouth, around which smiles 
ever lingered ; and the rounded chin, upon 
which, as we say, an angel had pressed his fin- 
ger — who could behold all these charms and 
not become influenced, and won over to the 
side of the fair enchantress ? The expres- 
sion of her countenance, ever varying from 
mirth and mischief to tender, coaxing entreaty, 
from resolute decision to flashing sunshine, 
conquered and won the day in every battle ; 
and thus it ever came to pass that Caroline 
Gutmann had her own way with young and 
old, with sad and gay. Most of all, however, 
with her parents, who, loving her with adora- 
tion, lavished upon her all that their vast wealth 
could afford, and, although often grieved by 
what they called her wrong ideas of what was 
proper and prudent, could never long hold out 
with their displeasure ; and this the spoiled 
darling well knowing, took cruel advantage 
of the weakness of the parents whom she, in 
turn, also loved so dearly. 

She was perfectly conscious of her beauty, 
and laughingly called it her “ power.” She 
rejoiced at it, and spoke of it freely, answer- 
ing, when reproved: “She would admire a 
beautiful picture just as much — in fact, every- 


32 AUREOLA: OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 


thing that was lovely; therefore could not see 
the sense of not being allowed to express her 
approval, for the mere reason that it was ex- 
clusively her own property. What difference 
could it make ? ” She would conclude her 
argument: “Others think it, and I — say it.” 
Affectation was as foreign to her nature as 
light is to night. Young gentlemen, bewitched 
by her beauty, who sometimes so far forgot 
themselves as to pay her empt^ compliments, 
she frightened into embarrassing confusion, 
by coldly asking them “ whether they did not 
know something new, as she was tired of stale 
phrases and graises ? ” 

One afternoon, early in autumn, Caroline 
had gone out, after dinner, to take a walk. 
She usually remained out, at these occasions, 
not longer than an hour. This time, however, 
it struck two — half-past, and still she had not 
returned. A heavy rain had come on quite 
unexpectedly, and her mother had begun to 
feel uneasy. The servant had brought in the 
afternoon Kaffee, and the weather was clearing 
again. Mr. Gutmann and his wife were sitting 
at the table, commenting on their daughter’s 
unwonted absence, when the door opened, and 
in she stepped, with smiles wreathing her face 
and sunshine dancing in her eyes. 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 33 

“Such an adventure, mamma! This^ rain 
was the luckiest thing that ever could have 
happened. Oh, dear I how I enjoyed myself 
— paying a visit to Mr. Waldheim.’' A mis- 
chievous twinkle in her eye showed that she 
was prepared for a storm, and meant to 
weather it. “ Not a drop upon my hat,” she 
continued, going up and looking at herself in 
the pier-glass. “ How fortunate! this shade of 
green is so easily soiled.” 

“ What do you mean, Caroline ? ” asked her 
father, in stern displeasure. “ Have done with 
your hat and ribbon, and explain your words 
about visiting Mr. Waldheim. You do not 
know the young gentleman at all ! how can you 
speak of having visited him ?, What new dis- 
graceful trick is this ? ” 

“ My dear child ! ” said the gentle voice of 
her mother. 

“ Goodness, papa, where do you fancy your- 
self? ” spoke the courageous little witch, all 
the while watching his countenance in the mir- 
ror, and laughing inwardly at the gathering 
frowns, and the volumes of smoke which he 
blew vigorously into the alf, and which were a 
sure sign of a brewing storm. “You are not 
in your court-house, to exhibit your magis- 
terial dignity, nor have you an unfortunate 
c 


34 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

wretch of a felon before you in the dock, to 
vent your just displeasure on. See,” she con- 
tinued, turning round, “ what you have done — 
how you have frightened poor mamma ! ” (the 
little hypocrite !) “ Do not look so beseeching- 
ly, darling: there, drink your coffee, while it 
is hot, and I shall sit down and tell you my 
adventure. To you, dear — not to papa, wvho 
so cruelly frightened you.” 

They did not utter another word, knowing 
too well that they should hear nothing at all 
if they persisted, and that their daughter would 
have her own way. 

“There, papa, I forgive you. You did not 
mean it, after all ; ” and she held out one of 
her dimpled hands toward him ; and he, unable 
to resist the smiling look, took it as a peace- 
offering, shaking his head, however, as a sign 
that he did so under protest. 

“ I walked down the ‘ Graben,’ ” she began, 
“ thinking of nothing particular, except how 
beautiful the gardens looked, and how this bed 
of flowers might be made to look still more 
handsome, or how that vine might be bent to 
more advantage — when I felt a drop, and then 
another. I went faster ; but before I had gone 
ten steps more, it commenced to pour. See- 
ing a house -door open, I jumped in at hazard. 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 35 


Not knowing upon whose property I had so 
unceremoniously alighted, I peeped out again, 
and knew, then, that it was Mr. Wilhelm Wald- 
heim’s house. I resolved to keep as quiet as 
a mouse ; and as soon as the rain would be 
over, make my escape, unnoticed. But inten- 
tions sometimes run counter to deeds, as 
proved in this case. A door, facing the hall, 
opened, and out of it came a tall, proud-look- 
ing gentleman, dark as a gypsy, .with flash- 
ing eyes, and ?lad in a magnificent dressing- 
gown of black satin, lined with red silk. A 
smoking - cap to match sat lightly upon his 
wavy, dark, long hair; and on his hand, in 
which he held a cigar, sparkled a costly 
emerald solitaire. I knew at once whom I 
had before me. He looked as like old Mr. 
Waldheim as any young person can resemble 
an old one. There I had the advantage of 
Wilhelm Waldheim — for he it was; and it 
was the most amusing sight to witness the look 
of surprise that passed over his handsome 
face ; but only for a moment : for then he re- 
covered himself ; and advancing with elegant 
ease toward where I stood, addressed me. 
And now, mamma, I will give you our whole 
conversation, just as it. was. 

•'“Fraulein, let me invite you into a room. 


36 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

The hall is not a suitable place for a lady. I 
suppose I have to thank the heavy rain for the 
pleasure of your visit ? ’ 

“‘You have judged rightly, Mr. Waldheim; 
for I presume I am speaking to the master of 
the house? ’ A bow acknowledged that I was 
right. ‘These showers are enemies to rib- 
bons, lace, and feathers, and as I saw the en- 
trance open, I took the liberty of seeking 
refuge in this hall.’ 

“‘You do me honor; but heighten it, by 
allowing me to show you my picture gallery. 
Last week I received my paintings from 
abroad ; for, as I intend living henceforth at 
home, I had written for them. Do pictures 
interest you, Fraulein ? ’ 

“ ‘ Most certainly ; and I accept your kind 
proposal with pleasure.’ And then, mamma, 
when we were passing through the long gal- 
lery, looking at this picture and admiring that, 
inquiring and explaining by turns — all my 
dignity gave way at once, when I pictured to 
myself the hands raised in horror, the mourn- 
ful shake of heads and false curls, if it should 
come out that I had been to look at Mr. Wald- 
heim’s pictures, with nobody but old Jacob now 
and then coming in to put some question to 
his young master. What new fuel had I added 


AUREOLA; OR, THE £LA CRT SHEER. 37 


to the fire, burning already so brightly upon 
the altar of public opinion ! So, interrupting 
Mr. Waldheim in a really very interesting de- 
scription of some particular painting — I burst 
out in a peal of laughter ! ” 

“ How could you, Caroline ? How very 
shocking ! and — ” 

“ There, that will do ! I told myself all this, 
and much more; but nothing availed me — not 
even Mr. Waldheim’s well-bred look of won- 
der could sober me down — until I was quite 
exhausted, and had taken a seat near the win- 
dow. Then, after wiping away the tears which 
my laughing-spell had pressed out, I went up 
to him, looking as penitently as a punished 
child, and said: ‘Thousand pardons for my 
apparent rudeness, Mr. Waldheim; ’ and I had 
much to do not to burst out again ; and he 
must have noticed my struggle, for he smiled. 
‘ If you knew the reason why I startled you in 
so unladylike a manner, you would perhaps 
have joined me in my mirth. Later, if you re- 
main here, as you say is your intention, and 
perchance remember this afternoon, you may 
know why I behaved in such an undignified 
manner. You do not. know who I am: if you 
think it worth while to inquire, you will be told 
that they call me “ the Black Sheep.” ’ His 
4 


38 AUREOLA; O R, TH E B L A C K S HE E P. 

good-breeding availed him nothing this time, 
papa, I can tell you ; for he fairly started back, 
gazing at me in blank astonishment. But I 
nodded saucily with my head, saying: ‘Yes, 
Mr. Waldheim, this is one of my names.' 

“ Goodness gracious, child, what sort of an 
impression must you have made ? ” exclaimed 
her mother. 

“Who cares ? Judging from the expression 
of his face, however, it could not have been a 
very bad one, although I confess that I tried 
very hard to shock him. You see, mamma, I 
may dare much.” And the look she threw into 
the glass explained her meaning. 

“‘You must be joking, Fraulein,’ said Mr. 
W aldheim ; ‘ this name could not be applied to 
you. You should be called “Ray of Gold.” ’ 

“ ‘ Exactly, Mr. Waldheim ; that is one of my 
other names: they call me“ Aureola.” And 
now, as the rain has ceased, I must say good- 
by, and many thanks for your kind attention.' 

“He followed me into the hall, where we en- 
countered old Jacob, ready to open the door 
for me. ‘ Good-by, Jacob,' I said. 

“ ‘ I wish you a good evening, Fraulein Gut- 
mann.' 

“ I glanced back, and saw his face light up 
with pleased intelligence, returning my mock- 
ing smile with a deferential bow.” 



CHAPTER IV. 



RECEIVING SOME INFORMATION. 

O say that Wilhelm Waldheim was 
astonished, would express his feel- 
ings but slightly. Bewildered, he 
stood gazing at the door that had 
shut upon the fair vision. “ Who was she ? 

What was she ? ” He was not a very young 
man, for he was close upon thirty, and not 
easily impressed, for he had travelled far and 
near, through north and south, west and east ; 
had met women, beautiful and fair, simple and 
artful, gentle and passionate, learned and igno- 
rant, and yet never before had one crossed 
his path like this dazzling creature of to-day. 
With childlike simplicity, she seemed to draw 
one on, entreating to shield and protect her 
from all harm, yet demanding, by her womanly 
dignity and self-possession, the respect and 
devotion of a queen ; twining herself, as it 

39 


40 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

were, by her winning gentleness of manner, 
around one’s heart ; while, by one flash of her 
glorious eyes, she audaciously and proudly 
seemed to be superior to the protection her 
subjects were so willing to grant. 

Wilhelm Waldheim turned at last and en- 
tered his study. There he sat for a long time, 
trying to recollect the words she had spoken. 
Her sudden burst of mirth still rang in his 
ears, and he could picture to himself the ex- 
pression of her features — half serious, half 
comical — when she tried to stand upon her 
dignity. Then the amused and defiant look, 
when she told him one of her names was “ the 
Black Sheep; ” and the frank confession that that 
indeed was one of her other names, when he 
told her she ought to be called “ Ray of Gold.” 
No silly blushing and vain simpering, although 
she must have known what he would imply. 

Jacob seemed to know who she was: he had 
called her Miss Gutmann. Gutmann ? There 
was a Mr. Gutmann, his father’s friend. He 
would soon see, however. Getting quickly up, 
he rang the bell for Jacob. 

Jacob was a trustworthy old servant. He 
had carried his young master in his arms 
when he could hardly walk ; had played with 
him when he grew older, and helped him out 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BEACH SHEER. 4I 

of many a scrape. Jacob loved his master, 
and his master was very much attached to the 
faithful old man. Many a letter Wilhelm had 
written to him from his travels ; and once, when 
he was dangerously sick, in a foreign country, 
old Mr. Waldheim had despatched Jacob to 
nurse his son. Faithfully and tenderly the 
trusty servant had done his duty. Through 
many a weary night he had watched by the 
patient’s bedside, never tiring until Wilhelm 
had entirely recovered, and it was safe for 
Jacob to return home. Many a time had old 
Mr. Waldheim asked and taken his counsel, for 
Jacob had a wise head, and possessed a great 
deal of common sense. 

What do you wish, Herr Wilhelm ? ” Jacob 
asked, entering the study. And the shrewd 
blue eyes twinkled, for he had a pretty correct 
guess at the examination he thought he would 
have to go through. 

Mr. Waldheim twirled his mustache be- 
tween his white fingers, before beginning, and 
examined the precious stone that flashed upon 
his hand, as if there he expected the key with 
which to open the conversation. 

Seeing that his master had some difficulty in 
getting at the matter occupying his thoughts, 
Jacob took the liberty to pave the way for him, 

4 ^ 


42 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

as in former days he had done so often ; there- 
fore, he said : ^ 

“I suppose Miss Gutmann has reached home 
safely.” 

Wilhelm Waldheim smiled, slightly amused 
at his intelligent servant, and said: “Is Miss 
Gutmann, the lady who left us a short time ago, 
the daughter of our Stadtshultheiss (mayor), 
the old friend of my father ? ” 

“ The same, and his only child.” 

“ What queer name did she give me, then ? 
It was not Gutmann.” 

“ Ah, the mischievous little fairy ! Perhaps 
she told you she was called ‘the Black Sheep? ’ ” 

“Yes, this was the name; but she seemed 
to enjoy it.” 

“No doubt of it,” said Jacob, chuckling to 
himself. “And you, of course, were highly 
amazed ? ” 

“ How could I be otherwise, at a name so 
entirely out of place. What does it mean ? 
Why is she called so ? ” 

“Well, for no sensible reason, any way, I can 
assure you ; for she is as good and as kind 
as an angel — so the poor will tell you ; and 
there is no girl so lady-like and well-principled 
as Miss Gutmann. Nevertheless, the mighty 
ones of this city give her this name. And you 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLA CRT SHEER. 43 

know what ^Aey say must be true. A black 
sheep, you must know, Mr. Wilhelm, here 
means one who misleads others, or sets a 
bad example. Now, all the mothers of Seefeld 
fear their daughters might want to do as Miss 
Gutmann does, so she is constantly held up as 
* the Black Sheep.’ ” 

But what, in Heaven’s name, is she doing? 
I could not point out one single word or look 
that any one could call wrong.” 

“I believe it. You are not well enough 
acquainted with the customs of this country to 
do so' ; and to those — and that is her great 
sin — Miss Gutmann will not submit. They 
say all manner of things of her, and prophesy 
that she will yet come to a bad end. All the 
while — and this is the fun of it — they love her, 
envy her, are proud of her, pet her, and spoil 
her to their hearts’ content. They say that 
with all her wrong opinions she is the dear- 
est, best, kindest, and prettiest creature that 
ever breathed ; yet, the next moment, they 
turn around and abuse her, as if she were the 
worst. That comes from her really being all 
that is good, and her fairly bewitching every 
one, from low to high, from rich to poor. All 
this seems very contradictory, but it is the 
truth.” 


44 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

“You seem well instructed about all the 
world says. Who is your informant ? ” asked 
Mr. Waldheim, highly amused at his servant’s 
enthusiasm. 

“ Why, bless you, sir, I have it all from the 
best source in the world. Have we not Kath- 
arina, in the kitchen, who goes with her water- 
tubs twice every day to one of the city foun- 
tains, to fetch water? Does she not meet 
there Mrs. Gutmann’s Lena, and Mrs. Fisher’s 
Marie, Mrs. Brenner’s Lisele, and all the other 
servants of that part- of the city? and are they 
not all bound to tell each other the scandal of 
all the families they belong to ? Do they not 
there mutually disclose all that has happened 
during the day — listen, and sometimes de- 
fend, ay, even sometimes quarrel for this opin- 
ion, or that member of some family ? And 
for whom do they fight oftener, and whom do 
they defend more, than Miss Caroline Gut- 
mann ? to whom none of the other young 
ladies can hold a candle.” 

“This will do, Jacob. There! some one 
knocks.” 

“Herr Stadtshultheiss Gutmann.” 

“ My dear Mr. Waldheim, I take the liberty 
of calling on you. Knowing that you are, we 
may say, a foreigner in your own fatherland, 


AUREOLA; OR, THE ELACH SHEEP. 45 

and having been an old friend of your father, 
I resolved to see you, and ask whether I can 
be of any service to you. You have, I pre- 
sume, very few acquaintances as yet, and 
therefore, if you will allow me, I suggest that I 
write your name upon the blackboard at the 
club-house, to let the members know that you 
desire to get elected as one of us. You will, 
of course, find no difficulty, and I guarantee 
that none but white balls will fall for you.” 

“I am infinitely obliged to you, Mr. Gut- 
mann, and accept your kindness with thanks. 
I have, as you rightly suppose, no acquaint- 
ances as yet ; for, until now, I have had very 
little leisure.” 

“ When once a member of the club, it will 
be easy for you to get as many friends as you 
choose. To become acquainted with the fair 
sex of our city, you will, of course, for the 
present, have very little opportunity, as the 
recent death of your lamented father does not 
allow you to frequent the entertainments our 
club gives ; but in about six or eight months you 
will be at liberty to enjoy their company also.” 

“ Indeed ! And may I not count on perhaps 
being permitted to visit them at their private 
residences ? ” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ” chuckled Mr. Gutmann, good- 


46 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEER. 

naturedly ; “well, well, you are green yet A 
longer stay among us will teach you our ways. 
Ha! ha!” and the old gentleman seemed to 
enjoy the idea immensely. “No, no, Mr. 
Waldheim; this would not do with us. No, 
not with us,” he repeated. “By Jupiter! ” he 
murmured, half aloud, to himself, forgetting 
that Mr. Waldheim might understand him — “I 
hope he will not express this to Caroline, if he 
should meet her again ; I do not know what 
that little witch might do.” 

Mr. Waldheim listened surprisedly to this, 
and especially to the muttered sentences, 
which he perfectly heard — though he did not 
understand their meaning. .“I already have 
had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with 
Miss Gutmann, sir.” 

“ Ah, yes ; so she told me, the madcap ! I 
suppose she shocked you ? She tried very 
hard to do so, she told us. An unfortunate 
accident, that rain, of course ; but could not 
be helped. She will be the town-talk too for 
a while ; but she enjoys it immensely, which is 
the worst of it. She is a good girl, however, 
but frightfully obstinate in some things. Well, 
I dare say it is our fault. We spoiled her, sir, 
we spoiled her, and could not help it ; she has 
such winning, caressing ways about her, that 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK ^HEEH, 4 / 

one does what she wishes before one is aware 
of it ; and I really cannot vouch that I should 
not do so again, if I had to do it all over 
again.” 

“ My dear sir, I see positively no reason why 
people should talk about your daughter taking 
shelter in my house, instead of getting satu- 
rated through and through by walking home 
in the rain.” 

“ Wait a while, and you will see. How- 
ever, this is neither here nor there,” getting 
up. “ I hope to meet you often at the club. 
Next Thursday there will be a general meet- 
ing, and you will — as we say — be balled in 
as a member. Good evening.” 

“ I wish you a good evening. My regards 
to your family.” 

When Mr. Waldheim was alone, he said to 
himself: “ What a queer country ! ” 




CHAPTER V. 


A MORNING WALK. 



BOUT half an hour’s walk from See- 
feld is a sulphur spring. Years ago, 
a miniature hall had been built over 
it by the city. Its right wing con- 
tains two small rooms, in which live an old 
couple, rent free, to keep the place. This 
spring is a favorite spot with the fashionable 
world of Seefeld to walk to on fine mornings 
and evenings. The hall is prettily situated in 
a meadow, shaded by large old trees, and 
surrounded with tastily arranged flower-beds 
and small grass-plots, with bushes and shrubs. 
Two roads lead to it. The highway takes the 
promenaders past beautiful orchards and hand- 
some summer-houses, until, turning into a well- 
covered lane, it brings them straight to the 
place. The other, a by-path, commencing at 
the last house of the city, winds through fields, 

48 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 49 

past hedges, under trees, alongside of a mur- 
muring brook rippling over a pebbly bed, 
clear and cool — losing itself near the spring 
under tufty moss, and breaking forth farther 
down with renewed vigor, so as to form a small 
fall, dashing over a little pile of rocks. 

Caroline was a frequent visitor to the spring, 
where she often met some of her friends. She 
almost always went there alone, for she had, 
in fact, no particular bosom friend at all — 
though friendly with all the girls of her ac- 
quaintance. She had no secrets, therefore 
needed no confidante. Whatever she did, she 
did openly, not caring who saw or heard of it. 
The girls came to her with their little secrets 
and difficulties, always finding her ready to 
help, to advise, and to take — if need be — 
their troubles upon her own shoulders ; say- 
ing, as she was “ the black sheep ” any way, one 
black mark, more or less, could not signify. 

One evening she had given orders at home 
that she should be called next morning at five 
o’clock, as she wished to go to the spring. 
Her servant was punctual. Soon, attired in a 
simple morning-dress, a large straw hat on her 
golden hair, and her crystal cup swinging at 
her finger, she left the house. Taking the by- 
path, she soon saw the hall . before her, peep- 

5 D 


50 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

ing through the dense folia'ge of the stately 
trees. When she entered, she perceived that, 
early as it was, several gentlemen had preceded 
her. She was greeted respectfully, and one of 
them stepped forward to fill her glass for her. 
After this, they drew back, continuing the con- 
versation which her entrance had interrupted. 
Caroline then walked up and down for some 
time, taking no further notice of the group. 
She was on the point of filling her glass for a 
last draught, when the gravel on the road 
crackled, and a gentleman entered. She 
heard the others exclaim: “Halloa, Wald- 
heim ! you here, and so early ? What has 
brought you out this lovely morning ? ” The 
reply was : “ Such beautiful weather would 
tempt any one to rise earlier than usual. 
First of all, however, a drink ! ” Turning 
round, he saw Caroline, who, glass in hand, 
returned his salute. Walking up to her, he 
said : 

“This is an unexpected pleasure indeed. 
Are the ladies of Seefeld usually up so early ? ” 

Caroline at first felt inclined to give a polite 
answer, and then retire, but, noticing the other 
gentlemen turn and look astonished when Mr. 
Waldheim addressed her, resolved at once to 
remain still longer, to engage in conversation 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 5I 

with him. Therefore she said — and he won- 
dered at the peculiar expression that passed 
her countenance — “Morning hours, like this, 
should be spent, if possible, among nature’s 
beauties ; and, as. I am one of her votaries, it is 
but right that I should enjoy her first gifts.” 

“I had the pleasure of a visit from your 
honored father. I thought it extremely kind 
and considerate of him to remember that I am 
a stranger here.” 

“My father told me that he advised you 
to become a member of the club, and also, that 
you are one now.” 

“Yes, I have yet to thank him for all the 
trouble he took in the matter. I am fast be- 
coming acquainted among my townsmen.” 

“ I am glad to hear you say so. I see by my 
watch, however, that I must say good-by to 
you. I do not like my parents to take break- 
fast without me.” 

“ It is time for me also to leave. Will you 
grant me the pleasure of finishing my morn- 
ing walk in your company ? ” 

A deep blush dyed Caroline’s face at this 
unexpected question, and, undecided what to 
answer, she remained silent for a moment ; but, 
throwing a quick glance towards where the 
others stood, and seeing only ominous looks, 


52 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

quickly said, while a defiant smile came into 
her eyes : “ With pleasure ; the road is the 
property of every one.” 

Mr. Waldheim noticed the peculiar response, 
and looked sharply at her, but, as she then 
stepped from the hall, had no time to make 
any comment, but followed in silence — waving 
a farewell to those remaining within. 

“You seem unacquainted with those gentle- 
men, Miss Gutmann ? ” 

“ Oh, no ; I know them quite well. Why 
do you think so ? ” She hesitated before ask- 
ing this question, as she knew precisely what 
would follow. 

“You must pardon me, Miss Gutmann, but, 
seeing you taking no notice of them, and 
they standing at a distance from you, I should 
not have thought that you knew each other 
welly 

A flash of her eye, as if of delight, and a 
toss of her beautiful head, as if to say, “ Now ! ” 
— and she said, looking full into his face: 
“Your friends behaved only as gentlemen are 
expected to behave — here!' she added, as if 
to soften the severe explanation, when she 
perceived his face color painfully ; but looking 
fearlessly and saucily into his eyes. 

“ W ould you imply by this that I did not be- 


AUREOLA; OR, THE E LA CH SHE E R S3 

have as a gentleman ? ” he asked, and his brow 
gathered into a dark frown. 

She furtively watched him, nearly laughing 
outright at his wounded amour propre, for she 
always enjoyed to upset the equanimity of 
“ these lords of creation,” as she sarcastically 
called them, and to ruffle their feathers, know- 
ing that she could smooth them with silken 
touch. Therefore she felt no compassion for 
him, but walked placidly by his side, while he 
fumed inwardly, trying all the while to keep 
down his rising anger. 

Thus they walked in silence, for a short 
space, until she could control herself no longer; 
so she said: “Mr. Waldheim, are you very 
much shocked ? ” * 

“ Not shocked. Miss Gutmann,” he answered, 
his anger visibly giving way at the sound of 
that voice; “but — but I cannot understand 
what you mean ? You could not have intended 
to hurt me by what you said just now. I am 
only surprised.’’ 

“If you are surprised, what must those gen- 
tlemen be, whom we left at the spring? ” 

“ Why ? At what ? ” 

“ Will you be a docile pupil, while I am a 
perhaps severe teacher ? ” she asked, and her 
lovely face looked so bewitching, as she glanced 
5 * 


54 AUREOLA; OR, THE ELA CRT SHEEP. 

Upon him, that he would have promised any- 
thing, had she asked for it, let alone such an 
easy request. 

“ With pleasure ; I shall be only too grateful 
for any trouble you may take with one who 
does not know how to behave as a gentleman.” 

“What, not digested that yet? Well, I must 
repeat it again, bitter as the pill may taste. 
A gentleman, ke7^e, acts — not as you have done 
to-day.” 

“ But I have done only — ” 

“ That is just it — that you have done. Had 
you only saluted me, or spoken a few polite 
words, if you wished to do so, and nothing 
else, then you would have behaved to perfec- 
tion ; but you have conversed with me, and, 
what is more, have asked to accompany me in 
my walk, and I — like ‘ the Black Sheep ’ that I 
am — have accepted it ; and instead of haught- 
ily and freezingly looking you over from head 
to foot, for your presumptuous request, have 
allowed you to walk with me. Do you per- 
ceive, sir,” she continued, with assumed sever- 
ity, “ that you have not the manners of a gen- 
tleman ? Will you acknowledge that those 
others, whom we left at the spring, are far 
superior in wisdom, and much more fit to 
move in society than you ? Do you feel your 


AUREOLA: OR, THE ELA CRT SHEER. 55 

inferiority? Are you now- convinced of the 
entire impropriety of your behavior? ” 

“I — I certainly feel very much ashamed,” 
Mr. Waldheim said, confusedly, “ at the offence 
I have so unwittingly committed ; and I sin- 
cerely beg your pardon. Miss Gutmann. You 
surely know, however, the reason why I have 
behaved, as it seems, with such want of man- 
ners ; for, as you are aware, I am a stranger, 
and therefore entirely unacquainted with the 
customs of my country.” 

“There is no apology necessary. If I had 
not seen the wondering faces of your friends, 
I probably should not have accepted your com- 
pany ; but perceiving them, I resolved to spite 
them, and thus it comes that I have not acted 
as a prudent girl who values the opinion of the 
world ought to act. You see, I do not care 
for custom, and for what people say about me, 
but do what pleases me, what my conscience 
tells me is not wrong — therefore I am ‘ the 
Black Sheep.’ I give you the advice, how- 
ever, to take lessons from one of your friends 
about these matters^ for if you once take part 
in our public entertainments, you may, per- 
haps, find other ladies not so ready to over- 
look your want of manners. Excuse me,” she 
interrupted herself, seeing him wince ; “ but 


56 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

it is best to call the child by the name one 
would give it here, with as lenient an eye as 
I do. Here our ways separate. I wish you 
good morning. You must not address me, if 
you meet me in the street, or I may look at 
you with the glance of an insulted queen;” and 
with a laugh that rang like a silver bell through 
the morning air, she bowed and turned the 
corner of the street. 

Wilhelm Waldheim returned home. Break- 
fast was brought in, and he sat before it — 
tasting not a morsel. In vain did Jacob place 
the most tempting tidbits before him. He saw 
nothing but the sweet, roguish face, the dim- 
pled cheeks, the rosy lips disclosing a row of 
pearly teeth at every smile ; the flashing, dan- 
cing blue eyes; the beautiful hair, encircling the 
haughtily poised head as in a wreath of gold ; 
the winning, graceful girl, who had left him 
with a ringing, joyous laugh that thrilled and 
moved his very soul. 




CHAPTER VI. 



THE SLEIGH-RIDE. 

IT was the last week in October, and 
the first snow had fallen, covering the 
street at least a foot deep. Caroline 
determined to take a walk in honor 
of the first sign of winter. Equipped in a soft 
black dress, a green velvet coat, trimmed all 
around with swan’s-down, tight at the waist, 
showing her exquisite figure to perfection ; a 
hat, or cap, also of green velvet and trimmings 
to match the coat, upon her hair — which waved 
like a golden veil around her shoulders — she 
stepped from the house. She had reached the 
market-place, when she perceived Mr. Wald- 
heim coming toward her. Smiling to herself, 
while thinking of the warning she had given 
him the last time they had met, and curious to 
know what use he would make of her lesson, 
she was not a little astonished to see him halt 

57 



58 AUREOLA; 0 Ry THE ELA CRT SHEER. 

Straight before her. She was preparing for 
the haughty look she had promised to put on 
should he dare to address her in the street — 
when, taking off his hat, he said, with some 
anxiety : 

“Pardon, Miss Gutmann, but — would it an- 
noy you very much if I should say a few words 
to you ? Only a favor I wish to ask of you ; 
which, if you should grant it, would make me 
very happy.” 

“ It does not annoy me, in the least. On the 
contrary, your courage delights me; especially 
as I see,” glancing up at several windows, “a 
few of my friends watching us. I hope there 
is going to be a Kaffee-visit somewhere to-day. 
But ^ou — after what I have told you, are not 
you afraid of losing your character as a gen- ' 
tleman ? ” 

“ Not if j/ou do not withdraw your good 
opinion of me.” 

Caroline was struck with the look that ac- 
companied these words ; but, taking no further 
notice of it, asked : “ And your request ? what 
is it ? ” 

Wilhelm Waldheim hesitated, blushed, and 
looked altogether as if he were eighteen, in- 
stead of ten years older. He avoided the 
keen look with which she seemed to read his 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 59 

heart, and said, at last : “ The snow is beauti- 
fully deep, and altogether inviting for a sleigh- 
ride.” 

Although Caroline now perfectly understood 
what he wanted, and also why he was so 
strangely confused, she enjoyed his discomfort 
too much to desire to help him with one look 
or word ; but said, with immovable composure, 
“That is an undeniable fact. Any further 
news, Mr. Waldheim ? ” 

The slight tinge of sarcasm in her voice, 
which did not escape his ear, brought back 
to him his wonted self-possession. “ My new 
sleigh, and also a pair of horses which I pur- 
chased yesterday, are waiting for Miss Gut- 
mann ; and, if she will give me the pleasure 
of accepting my invitation for a drive to-mor- 
row afternoon, I should consider myself highly 
honored.” 

“What?” And she stepped back a step, 
pretending to be greatly shocked. “ What 
audacity ! Are you aware of the consequences 
of such a proceeding ? ” 

“For or for me. Miss Gutmann? ” 

“ For you, of course. I do the most out- 
rageous things, without thinking of the con- 
sequences, and my friends are used to it. But 
you? ” 


6o AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

“ Then I give you the same answer as be- 
fore — as long as I stand high in Miss Gut- 
mann’s good graces, I do not care what others 
think.” 

“Very well. You are delightful altogether,” 
she exclaimed, her eyes dancing with pleasure. 
“ What fun we shall have ! It is splendid ! 
Really, if we were not here, upon the market- 
place, I should go into raptures.” 

As Mr. Waldheim watched this childlike 
pleasure, and the lovely face dimpled all over 
with delight at the anticipated “ fun,” the play 
of those beautiful eyes, and the artless, inno- 
cent expression of the radiant features, he 
longed to speak words which he had never 
spoken to a woman before. But he sup- 
pressed his wish, and managed to say, quietly: 
“Which hour would suit you best. Miss Gut- 
mann ? ” 

She had come out of her ecstasy in the 
mean time, and answered, composedly enough : 
“ Two o’clock. But, Mr. Waldheim,” she added, 
soberly, “ count the cost ! I shall not be angry 
if you withdraw your invitation.” 

He shook his head, saying, slowly: “There 
is but one for whose opinion I care. I told 
you so before.” 

“ Be it so, then ; but do not blame me after- 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BZACH SHEER. 6l 


ward. I have warned you. At two o’clock 
to-morrow.” 

“I thank you, Miss Gutmann.” And they 
passed on. 

After this, Caroline had no mind to prolong 
her walk, but went home — there to encounter 
a storm, to fight a battle with her parents, as 
hard and as tough as she had ever gone 
through before ; but she would, she must win, 
she said to herself, entering the house. 

“Was it too cold for you, my child, that you 
come back so soon ? ” 

“ I do not know, mamma. The fact is, I 
took no notice of the weather at all ; or, if I 
'did, I have forgotten it.” 

“You speak strangely, Caroline,” said her 
father. 

“ I dare say I do, papa ; but my mind is occu- 
pied with a very important matter. I met Mr. 
Waldheim on the market-place, and I accepted 
his invitation for a sleigh-ride to-morrow after- 
noon,” she said, dashing into the strife at once. 

“That is not the proper way for a gentle- 
man to give an invitation. He ought to have 
asked our consent also. However, as Wilhelm 
Waldheim is to be looked upon as yet as a 
stranger, I shall not be too particular with him. 
I did not know that the young people of the 
6 


62 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACRT SHEEP. 

club had arranged a sleigh-ride. Perhaps, as 
they mostly remain longer than we old folks, it 
was fixed when we had gone. Strange, though, 
that they fixed it upon a week-day.” 

“ This invitation has nothing to do with the 
club. It is not a party. Mr. Waldheim has a 
new sleigh, and has bought a span of horses, 
and he wants me to use them first. That is 
all.” 

“ What is all, Caroline ? ” asked her father, 
quickly. “ Do you think that I shall give per- 
mission for such mad proceedings ? No, miss, 
no ! You have done outlandish things enough, 
it is true, but this I will not countenance.” 

Caroline was in the habit of letting her 
father finish his speech first, whenever he was 
angry — “To let the volcano burn itself out,” 
as she was wont to say. Respectfully she 
would listen, only now and then stroking gently 
his white long hair, or giving a forgiving pat 
upon his hands, to smooth down, as she laugh- 
ingly explained, the ruffled plumage of her 
handsome darling. When he had finished, 
she came forward with her sugar-plums, and 
tried to blind him with the battery of her 
brilliancy. She was a cunning little puss, as 
well as a lovely one, and knew well what her 
powers were, and how to use them. There- 


AUREOLA; OR, THE B LACK SHEEP. 63 

fore, when she saw his head getting gradually 
involved in a cloud of smoke, and no sparks 
followed after a long silence, she knew that 
her father had said his say, and that — the vol- 
cano was burntiOut. Then she drew timidly 
near, putting on the most innocent and demure 
face, whispering softly, “ Papa, are you vexed 
with your little puss ? ” 

A grunt came from the clouds. 

“Thank you, darling!” — as if she had re- 
ceived the most explanatory answer — and her 
eyes began to sparkle. “ Mamma, your ball 
has dropped — here it is. Are these stockings 
for me ? How finely and evenly knitted 1 ” 

Mr. Gutmann managed to throw a look of 
despair through a clearing in the clouds to- 
wards his wife, as much as to say: “ Now, she 
begins — can you hold out?” Mrs. Gutmann 
shook her head, which meant as much as — 
“You must do it. I am not equal.” Caroline 
rejoiced, for nothing escaped her. So the little 
general renewed her attack. 

“ Poor Mr. Waldheim ! Who will have the 
courage to send him home to-morrow with an 
empty sleigh, disappointed of his anticipated 
pleasure? You can never be so cruel, papa. 
You, with your kind heart, will never be able 
to undertake such an unkind task. I am sure 


64 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

he invited me, only thinking to please you ; 
yes, you, papa, who have been so kind to him. 
He told me that he had yet to thank you for 
your great kindness to him.” The volumes 
of smoke grew now so dense that Caroline 
had to turn her head. It was a sign that her 
father felt thoroughly uncomfortable, always a 
good omen, as relenting surely followed. By 
this time she had wound her arms around his 
neck, not minding the smoke, and was combing 
his hair with her slender fingers. 

“ How beautifully silky your locks are, 
papa ! ” 

“ And how white,” growled a voice beneath 
them ; “ and it is your obstinacy and your con- 
trary ways that have bleached them.” 

“ Indeed ! ” exclaimed Caroline, not at all 
moved by this pathetic appeal. “I am very 
glad of it, for you have no idea how it be- 
comes you. So there is no reason for you to 
complain, as your voice seems to imply, nor for 
me to regret. Mamma, please do not turn up 
your eyes towards heaven, and look so dis- 
tressed. You are neither i^ church, nor at a 
funeral, but simply at home, talking about the 
sleigh-ride which your little daughter means to 
enjoy to-morrow.” 

A sigh was the only answer. 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEEP. 65 

“ Mamma,” continued the spoiled beauty, 
“ how old am I ? ” 

“You know, my dear, that you are eighteen 
— old enough. Heaven knows, to act wiser and 
more prudentl)%than you do.” 

“ There! do not let us have any melodramas. 
You had eighteen — say seventeen years, in 
which you could train me, form my mind, and 
mould it into every possible shape you pleased. 
If you have succeeded, well and good : you 
ought to know best whether the nestling has 
grown up a bird to your taste ; if not,” and the 
little witch looked solemnly into her parents’ 
faces, “ why, I surely will never complain ; and 
you, darling, would certainly never confess your 
failure. So, there is an end of it ! Here I 
am, eighteen years old, exactly as you have 
made me — loving you two darlings above 
everything ; my own way next, and some- 
times a little extra pleasure, which you sure- 
ly would never have the heart to grudge me. 
Now tell me,” and the pretty golden head 
nestled into her mother’s lap, while one small, 
dimpled hand caressingly held her father’s, 
“ am I not your own darling, exactly as you 
wish her ? ” 

The fortress was won : that last pleading 
6 * E 


66 AUREOLA; OR, THE ELACH SHEEP. 

look had dealt the death-blow to all resolutions 
made too rashly. 

The ride proved a success. Both parties 
were greatly pleased. Mr. Waldheim some- 
times looked unutterable things, and several 
times tried to express them; but Caroline, 
who had practice in these matters, successfully 
quenched his ardor each time. 

In the evening of that day, Wilhelm Wald- 
heim went, as usual, to the club. He was re- 
ceived with stunning shouts, and nearly pulled 
to pieces by enthusiastic friends ; who, pour- 
ing congratulations and wishes for all kinds 
of happiness into his wondering ears, nearly 
wrung his arms off in their — to him — unex- 
plainable excitement. 

Such phrases as “ Lucky dog ! ” “ Quick 
work ! ” “ Sly fellow ! ” and so forth, reached 
his ears, without his being able to make out 
their meaning. 

At last the noise somewhat subsided, and 
Wilhelm found opportunity to inquire for what 
he had deserved this very flattering reception ? 

Then followed another outburst, mingled 
with an occasional dig between his ribs with 
some invisible cane, or some such article. 
“Do not be bashful, Waldheim ! ” “There is 
no reason for it. Confess ! ” “ Shame upon 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 6/ 

you ! to deny your bride.’’ “ Out with it !. ” and 
such like exclamations again were heard. 

“ Upon my honor, gentlemen, I do not know 
what you mean. Explain, and you will find 
me ready to tell all that I know, if I know any- 
thing.” 

“Waldheim, when did you pop the ques- 
tion ? ” 

“ To whom ? ” 

“ To whom but to Miss Gutmann ! Why, 
Waldheim, if you wished to keep your engage- 
ment a secret — for which, by-the-by, I see no 
earthly reason — why did you go out sleigh- 
riding with her to-day ? ” 

A light broke now upon the bewildered 
man, and he could scarcely hide his confusion. 
“ Gentlemen, be pleased to listen to me. I am 
not engaged to Miss Gutmann.” 

All looked up in astonishment, for no one 
could doubt that he was sincere. 

“ I asked the lady to accompany me, and 
she consented. It is true, she told me that 
it was against the rule here ; but, as peo- 
ple were used to her extraordinary doings, she 
would enjoy the ride, if / did not mind being 
put into the black-book. As I saw nothing 
wrong in the matter — I have done it many a 
time in foreign countries, where it is the cus- 


68 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

tom — I felt only honored by her accepting my 
invitation.” 

“ That looks exactly like Caroline Gutmann : 
honest and straightforward, but careless of her 
own repute,” said one of the company. 

“I have the highest opinion of Miss Gut- 
mann, and I shall take it as a personal in- 
sult if any word be said against her ! ” And he 
looked searchingly and fearlessly around. 

“ Do not be afraid, Waldheim,” said another, 
with a sly wink ; “ no one knows any ill of the 
lady. She is as open as the day ; and all her 
actions are above-board, laid bare to every 
one’s inspection.” 

“ All right ! ” said Wilhelm aloud, secretly 
wishing that he had a right to accept his friends’ 
congratulations. 




CHAPTER VII. 



AN EXCURSION. 

IFTER that time, Caroline often saw 
Mr. Waldheim in the street. As if 
by instinct, he happened to meet her 
now almost every time she went out. 
He passed by her with evident reluctance, as 
if hoping she would stop and speak to him — 
fastening his look lingeringly upon hers, as if 
asking for one word, for a moment’s pause. 
She, serenely smiling in his face, returned his 
salute only by a formal bow, and passed on, 
apparently not heeding his eloquent gaze. 
After he had passed, some slight remorse 
would sometimes sting her, making her wish 
that she had acted differently ; but she would 
say to herself, “ No ; I must show him that, 
although it may please me to take a ride with 
him, it does not follow that it should please me 
always to speak to him when he wishes it.” 

69 


70 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

Wilhelm Waldheim joined now in the mani- 
fold entertainments of the club, and, as there 
was no week in which there was not a ball, 
concert, soiree, private theatricals, or other 
.^ amusement such as the pleasure-seeking re- 
joice in, Caroline and he were thrown a great 
deal into each other’s company. It seemed as 
if among all whom he saw, she alone inter- 
‘ested him. He danced with her only, and 
when other partners took her from his side, he 
waited for her return, conversing during her 
absence with her mother. Sometimes he de- 
sired to give vent to his feelings, by telling her 
of his all-absorbing love for her ; but she so 
adroitly checked his slightest attempt, that he 
knew not whether, understanding what he was 
wishing to impart and to save him the anguish 
of being refused, she had thus turned it off 
with her easy grace ; or whether, in her girl- 
ish innocence, she had, indeed, never guessed 
that love occupied his heart. 

Caroline Gutmann was very well acquainted 
with the state of Wilhelm Waldheim’s feelings 
towards her, however; and read in every act, 
in every glance, in every expression of his dark, 
passionate countenance, that his thoughts were 
only of her ; that every beat of his heart was for 
her ; that,f^^ alone could make his whole frame 


A C/I? £ OLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

quiver and tremble with delight ; that with one 
smiling glance of her blue eye she could move 
his heart to its very core ; and that an hour of 
neglect had the power of disturbing his peace 
of mind for the whole evening. Caroline was 
too well versed in these affairs not to have 
known all this. She was not a woman for no- 
thing; and, moreover, had had experience for 
almost two years past, to know sufficiently what 
all her charms could work ; and that not only 
men, but also — and this was her greatest 
triumph — women, bowed to the wealth, posi- 
tion, and last, (but not least,) the beauty she 
possessed. She never had used, and never 
would use her powers to draw on the hearts 
of men by playing with their feelings, or trifle 
with true affection, and then, when tired of her 
toy, throw it carelessly away, enthralling a new 
victim. But how could she help it, if the flies 
would buzz around the flame, although get- 
ting no encouragement — but often cold looks, 
haughty answers, and indifferent smiles, for all 
their pointed attentions and proposals of mar- 
riage. ^ 

Her heart had never been touched. She 
believed that the courting of most of the gen- 
tlemen of her acquaintance was more paid to 
her father’s money and station than to herself ; 


72 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

and that, if she were beautiful only, their zeal for 
her hand would be less rapturous and persever- 
ing than it was now. She enjoyed being made 
much of, and accepted men’s homage ; but 
her affections had, as yet, not been stirred. 
Therefore the attentions of Wilhelm Wald- 
heim, though pleasing, did not awake a warmer 
feeling in her heart than a preference for his 
society, and a thought of pleasure at the knowl- 
edge that she had obtained, without a strug- 
gle, what she knew all the mothers of her young 
friends were anxiously wishing for their own 
daughters. 

When Mr. Waldheim commenced making 
Fenster - paraden, (♦‘window - parades,”) and 
passed her father’s house daily, keeping his 
eyes steadily on a particular row of windows, 
but longest on that where she was wont to sit, 
she laughed to herself, saying, “So he has 
taken lessons, at last ! ” and, to torment him, 
and show him that his passing or not passing 
was a matter of entire indifference to her, often 
left her seat at the window when she perceived 
him from afar, and withdrew to some small room 
at the top of the house, where he would not 
expect her to be, and whither, therefore, his 
eyes would not roam, and thence watch his 
slow step as he gazed longingly up, seeking 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 73 

vainly for her figure between the flowers that 
ornamented the window-sill ; and then, when 
she saw his face grow thoughtful at not per- 
ceiving her, she smiled and rubbed her hands 
in delight at the power she possessed over 
that all-coveted man. 

Thus the winter passed. The warm season 
brought picnics and excursions. The gardens 
then were opened, and out-of-door pleasures, 
not less prized than those of the cold season, 
commenced. Nature opened its doors for the 
young to drink from her overflowing fountain, 
and for the old to draw life and youth again 
from her never-aching bosom. 

In light garments and large straw hats, the 
young members of the club assembled at five 
o’clock, one Sunday morning, at some place 
agreed upon, to start on the first excursion of 
the season. With light hearts the lively com- 
pany left the city ; but, when once on the road, 
or when some shady by-path was reached, then 
the gentlemen chose their particular ladies, 
and thus, full of life and merriment, the party 
proceeded. The wood was reached. A moun- 
tain or steep hill had to be climbed : the. 
weaker sex needed protectors, and the gen« 
tlemen willingly offered their assistance, re^ 
joicing at the slight touch of the clinging arm 
7 


74 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

holding on so confidingly to their stronger 
one. Some farm-house was reached at last, 
where these “ babes in the wood ” refreshed 
themselves with cool and creamy milk. Games 
were played, and after a few hours’ rest, they 
proceeded. They sang ; they recited ; they 
improvised ; they made jokes, laughing most 
at the worst ones, for their hearts were open 
and ready to overflow into mirth on such 
a lovely day. The forest thickened. A few 
steps more, and they stood at the head of a 
fall, whose waters burst from between large 
gray rocks with tremendous noise — descend- 
ing at least ninety feet down into the abyss, 
where it whirled and foamed until it flowed, 
growing quieter, as a broad stream, through 
velvety meadows, watering the valley below, 
and turning the wheels of a mill farther on. 

The company stopped, awed at this grand 
spectacle of nature. Some of the gentlemen 
climbed the rocks, addressing the fairies of the 
waters in humorous speeches. Some knelt 
down to sprinkle the spray upon the heads of 
the party, christening them in the name of the 
water nymphs. General merriment prevailed: 
but time flew, and its wheels turned in untir- 
ing speed, carrying with them the brief hours of 
joy and pleasure. Some of the party reminded 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEEP. 75 

the rest that to reach Berg (a small village 
where the excursionists had ordered dinner) 
they must not linger any longer. The moun- 
tain was ascended — thanks to the guide who 
had been engaged at the farm - house, they 
lost their way only three times, and reached 
Berg at two o’clock, just when people were 
going to afternoon service. Arm-in-arm the 
procession came to the small, neat inn, and sat 
down to the well-provided table with a relish. 
Some of the party, obtaining permission from 
the mayor, engaged music, and, when dinner 
was over, lively airs were played, and dancing 
began — until about eight o’clock. Then the 
hired omnibuses were brought out, and the 
various couples seated themselves, sure to 
enjoy the three hours’ ride by beautiful moon- 
light. 

Mr. Waldheim had anticipated much from 
that day ; but it was anticipation only. 

No sooner had Caroline set eyes upon him 
that morning, than she said within herself: 
“You seem to have determined upon some- 
thing ; but so have I — only I do not carry my 
purpose so plainly written upon my counte- 
nance. We shall see, however, who succeeds 
best. No ! Wilhelm Waldheim, no bonds for 
me, as yet.” When had Caroline ever not 


4 


76 AUREOLA; OR, THE BEACH SHEER. 

had her way, if she once had set her mind 
upon it? 

How was it possible for Mr. Waldheim to 
tell her of his feelings, when, hearing his voice 
assume a tender tone, she suddenly gave a little 
cry of fright, pretending to have slipped and 
hurt herself? When he bent close to whisper 
love, she burst into a merry laugh, pointing 
to his hat, which, brushed off by a convenient 
branch, was rolling upon the ground ? Or, 
when the party had returned to Seefeld, and 
Mr. Waldheim thought to have her all to him- 
self while accompanying her home, she pro- 
posed that the omnibuses should convey every 
lady to her own door, as it was late, and, judg- 
ing by herself, all must be very tired ? So 
that excursion was to Wilhelm Waldheim not 
what he had intended it should be — but rather 
a day of disappointment. 



* 



CHAPTER VIII. 

OLD Jacob’s advice. 

IK excursions and picnics fol- 
ed, when the weather permitted, 
the gardens were open each Sun- 
day, and also upon every Thursday 
afternoon, if the weather was fine ; so Mr. 
Waldheim could not fail to meet Caroline. 
But when meeting after meeting with her, in 
this manner, resulted in nothing, she with 
admirable skill and cleverness evading his se- 
rious advances, his heart grew heavy within 
him ; and he began to ask whether she really 
did not purposely keep him from proposing ? 
That his society was not unpleasant to her 
he believed ; but still, she might not feel for 
him the affection he expected from his fu- 
ture wife, and knowing this, she might try to 

7 * 77 



78 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP, 

ward off the unpleasantness of having to give 
him a refusal. When this idea once became an 
alm^ost settled conviction with Wilhelm Wald- 
heim, he grew sad indeed; and if to be near 
her and see her had not become almost a 
necessity with him now, he would have ceased 
to visit the places where he could meet her ; 
but he knew that this would have been more 
than he could have borne. So he continued to 
enjoy her society, feeling the more desolate 
when away from her. 

Not Wilhelm Waldheim alone, however, grew 
thoughtful, and was downcast ; but there was 
yet another person whose plans seemed to be 
threatened with entire failure. Old Jacob, who, 
ever since Caroline Gutmann had entered his 
young master’s mansion on that memorable 
rainy day, had harbored thoughts of love and 
marriage between Wilhelm and her, and who 
had visions of a golden-headed, lovely mistress 
to brighten the home of his beloved master, 
now trembled to see his beautiful castle tum- 
ble to the ground by the mismanagement, as 
he called it, of Mr. Wilhelm. Anxiously he 
had watched his proceedings, rejoicing at his 
evident zeal and earnestness, as well as in his 
apparent success. By-and-by his smiles van- 
ished, giving way to ominous shakes of the 


AUREOLA; OR, THE ELA CRT SHEEP. 79 

head. His young master’s sad countenance 
distressed him ; and sundry remarks, that had 
come to his knowledge through Katharine, 
(who faithfully poured into his eager ear the 
talk at the fountain,) had led him to believe 
that a little good advice would not harm* Mr. 
Wilhelm ; who, blinded by love, pulled alto- 
gether — as he expressed himself — on the 
wrong string. ‘‘Who could have thought,” 
he muttered to himself, “ that Herr Waldheim, 
who ought to know women thoroughly, really 
knows them so little ? ” After several weeks 
of mutterings and staring in the empty air, 
Jacob resolved that, as it would not be the 
proper thing for him to give his advice to 
his master without being asked, he must 
pull him out of the scrape somehow, as he 
had done so often in times gone by ; and so 
he went to work, proceeding in a most original 
manner. 

Wilhelm Waldheim was sitting at his break- 
fast, smoking a cigar, whose fragrant odor 
filled the room. Listlessly watching the bluish 
wreaths of smoke that ascended into the air, 
he sat reclining in an easy-chair. Occasionally 
he took a sip of coffee, and absently crumbled 
a delicate roll between the tips of his fingers. 
He sat thus for a long while. The cigar went 


80 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

out, and the cup was empty. Reaching out 
his hand for a small crystal carafe, usually 
containing water, he found it empty: “Jacob, 
some water.” 

“ Yes, sir,” and the carafe was removed. 
Then some time passed again. Master and ser- 
vant seemed to have forgotten what had been 
wanted, until Mr. Waldheim again reached for 
the carafe, and not seeing it there, remembered 
his order. Astonished at Jacob’s unusual inat- 
tention, he looked around to remind him of his 
previously expressed wish, when he perceived 
him sitting in the most dejected attitude upon 
a chair, near a window. The glass pitcher 
was dangling on his forefinger, and his eyes 
were staring, as it seemed, through its bottom, 
at some invisible object upon the ground. 
Now and then, dolorous sighs heaved his 
bosom, and several times he pulled out his 
pocket-handkerchief to wipe his eyes. 

Wilhelm shook off his reverie, and called: 
“Jacob, you have forgotten to bring me some 
water.” Jumping up quickly, as if awakened 
from a dream, the old man left the room ; not, 
however, before Mr. Waldheim heard a sigh 
so deep as to resemble a groan. He thought 
this behavior very strange ; the more so, as he 
had never before seen his old servant in such 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLA CAT SHEE P. 8l 

a melancholy mood. He would have asked 
the reason of it; but, as Jacob soon appeared 
with the water, looking cheerful as was his 
wont, Wilhelm neglected to inquire, and for- 
got the matter. At dinner, however, Jacob 
again conducted himself in a most extraordi- 
nary manner. He stood upright — soldier 
fashion — near the table, as if awaiting his 
master’s commands, striking, occasionally, his 
breast with his hand in a most pathetic way ; 
at the same time murmuring such words as, 
“ Women — devotion — old fool,” and so forth ; 
answering neither Mr. Waldheim’s question, 
“What he meant?” nor attending totj his re- 
quired services at the table. When his master 
once handed him a napkin, which he had re- 
moved from over a vase of fruit, he took it 
quickly, as if in ecstasy, pressing it to his heart 
and lips, while he exclaimed, as if in doubt: “Is 
it then true ? At last ! at last ! ” Then burst- 
ing into tears, he left the room hastily. 

Had Jacob been thirty or forty years of age, 
instead of over sixty, Mr. Waldheim would 
have at once declared that his servant was 
madly in love ; but, as it was, he said to himself 
with terror, that poor, faithful old Jacob had 
become a lunatic. Instead of laughing at his 
ridiculous behavior, he sadly resolved to call in 
F 


82 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLA C/L SHEER. 

a physician at once. While Mr. Waldheim was 
yet consulting with himself, Jacob appeared, 
blissfully ignorant, as was evident by the ex- 
pression of his countenance, of the manner in 
which he had left the room some minutes 
before. Removing the dishes and handing 
some wine to Wilhelm, he began to tell him 
some news he had heard during the forenoon, 
and then asked some questions about different 
household affairs in as sane and reasonable a 
manner as any one could have wished. 

Supper came : the table was set and every- 
thing duly served, but Jacob was not to be 
seen. ^Wilhelm waited — waited long and 
patiently. At last, a little alarmed, he got up 
to seek him, for Jacob occupied a large place 
in his master’s heart. Attracted by a dull 
sound, he stepped into the hall, where he be- 
held his servant, in a pleading attitude, kneel- 
ing before the image of a marble Venus. Mr. 
Waldheim went up to him, and, laying his hand 
gently upon his shoulder, softly said, “ Poor 
old Jacob, this is not the place for you. Come 
with me. Tell me, if you can, of your trouble.” 
He led him into the room. “Jacob, what ts 
the matter with you ? Are you mad, that you 
behave so strangely? or — can you be in — 
love?” 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEER. 83 

“I love, Herr Wilhelm, although I am old 
and gray, and my whole heart’s devotion be- 
longs to ” — Aim, he was going to say, but he 
stopped in time. 

“ This is bad, though I thought it was some- 
thing worse. Now, Jacob, you must tell me 
all about it ; perhaps I can be of use to you. 
Is the damsel of your love averse to your 
affection ? Does she know of it ? ” 

“ I believe so,” with a sigh. 

Does she care for it ? ” 

“ She does not value it.” 

“ Ah ! this is bad. Perhaps you have not 
shown your fondness in the right way.” 

“ I came to the same conclusion lately, and 
discovered another way how to find out the 
thoughts of her heart, and whether she cares 
for me or not ; but it is a very hard way for a 
truly loving heart.” 

“ Nevertheless, you must try it,* Jacob, if you 
think it will give you security.” (It will cure 
him of his folly, perhaps, Mr. Waldheim 
thought to himself, if he has done with sus- 
pense ; so I will lend a helping hand ; poor old 
fellow ! ) “ But your new plan, what is it ? ” 

“You see, Herr Wilhelm — but will you not 
grow impatient if I be somewhat lengthy in 
my explanation ? ” 


84 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEER. 

“No, I promise you, I shall be all attention.” 
(Poor man, this affair has nearly turned his 
head; now he is for making a speech, I am 
bound.) 

“ To you, sir, who ought to know woman’s 
nature so well, this all will sound very stale, 
indeed ; but, as you are so kind as to allow me 
to unburden my mind, and to begin at the be- 
ginning, here it goes. You know, Herr Wil- 
helm, there are many kinds of women. There 
is, for instance, the one who, although not 
beautiful, draws on your heart by her woman- 
ly grace. Loving and lovable, you win her 
heart and tell her of your love ; she, with trust- 
ing simplicity, accepts your affection, confess- 
ing that she returns it; and, without expecting 
much ado or show, becomes your faithful wife. 
Happy the man who, with so easy tranquillity, 
may thus sail his ship into the port.” Here a 
deep-drawn sigh signified that such was not 
the woman ke had in his mind. “ Then there is 
another kind,” he continued, “ haughty and 
proud, living on attentions, expecting them by 
right; won by attention, and, as wife, com- 
manding attention. With not much heart, or, 
if they have any, covered by their dignity, 
stateliness, and pride. Looking well at the 
head of a table and as mistress of a large 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 85 

establishment, but entirely useless in nurseries 
or in a poor man’s house. Pity for the man who, 
among these overpowering qualities, seeks, in 
hours of need, the greatest and most beau- 
tiful gift of a woman — a heart. Then, a third 
kind includes those who bewitch us with their 
charms, by their loveliness, by their goodness 
of heart, by their innocent, child - like ways. 
These are the most dangerous ones, for we 
must love them, we cannot help it. We must 
show our devotion to them, for it is our pleas- 
ure. We must watch their every look and 
fulfil their slightest wish, for to serve them is 
to serve ourselves. We must, as it were, lay 
our hands under their feet, and watch that 
only sunshine comes near them, for their joy 
is ours.” Jacob had become excited in his 
eloquence, and his eyes anxiously watched his 
master’s. “ But,” he continued, “ is this the 
way to reach their hearts ; or, more correctly, 
is this the way to make our devotion valuable 
to them? No, Mr. Waldheim, these beauties 
have been spoiled. They have hearts, but are 
not aware of it. They may love us, but they 
know it not. Affection, attention, love, and all 
that, have become stale and tasteless to their 
palled palates, and for them those words have 
lost their beautiful meaning and are — worth- 
s 


I 


86 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

less. Therefore, to create a reaction, one 
must turn over a new leaf.” Here he stopped 
to take breath, for he had spoken quickly, 
as if afraid of being interrupted ; and, throw- 
ing a sharp look upon his master’s face, he 
noticed that it wore an expression of intense 
interest. So he went on : “ Having paid all 
possible attention to them, and not having re- 
ceived any sign that their hearts respond to 
ours, one must cease to pay attentions, be sim- 
ply polite, and seem indifferent to their smiles. 
Instead of seeking their society, one must pass 
them with a courteous bow only, and give over 
making Fenster-paraden.” 

^ He had gone too far, and he knew it the 
minute it was out ; but he had done what he 
wanted, and hoped it would get his master out 
of the scrape. 

“ Remove the dishes, Jacob ; I do not want 
• you any longer. I shall go out. Jacob!” just 
as the latter had reached the door. 

The old man came back, looking very 
humble. Mr. Waldheim took his hand, press- 
ing it warmly, and said : “ Faithful old Jacob ! ” 
then turning his head, as if to conceal his 
emotion, waved him away. 

“ Faithful and true,” he murmured, when 
alone ; “ and delicate as a woman. Sly old 


r 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BL A CRT SHEEP. 8 / 

fox ! ” and he smiled, thinking how he had 
been sold. “ He is right, however, and I shall 
take his advice, hard as it may be to me. 
Showing her my love by every possible atten- 
tion has brought me nothing. I shall see what 
a little assumed indifference can do.” 




CHAPTER IX. 


TORMENTING. 



T was on a Friday that Jacob had 
shown to his master that the man- 
agement concerning the affair of his 
heart was altogether wrong ; and 
that, to win such a young lady as Caroline 
Gutmann, he must take a course very different 
from that he had previously pursued. Jacob, 
to use a common phrase, had removed the lid 
from the kettle, and thrown a new light upon 
the subject. Wilhelm Waldheim, who under- 
stood the lesson, promised to himself to learn 
it, doubting, however, whether it were not too 
hard to practise. Time was granted him to 
tone down his feelings, however, and to mod- 
erate his love Into the — for that task — re- 
quired even temperature ; for Sunday proved 
rainy, and, therefore, the meeting was post- 

88 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 89 

poned. Thursday, however, broke bright and 
lovely upon the world of Seefeld ; and Mr. 
Waldheim trembled when he parted the cur- 
tains of his bedroom-window, and almost re- 
coiled at the dazzling rays that illuminated the 
beautiful garden beneath. Should he not go 
away, and avoid her altogether ? This would 
be much easier, thought he, than to see and 
not speak to her. No ! he would proceed ; he 
had begun already, for he had ceased to make 
Fenster-paraden. What had she thought — 
how had she felt, as day after day passed and 
he did not appear ? Had it cost her half so 
many pangs as it had cost him ? Or, had she 
only wondered at the omission, and nothing 
more ? He knew that he had been perfectly 
miserable, and several times in the day had 
started to go ; but each time Jacob had en- 
tered the room, keeping him in talk about 
trifles, until the proper time had fled. Yes, 
Jacob was a great strain upon Wilhelm Wald- 
heim, who felt ashamed before him, and there- 
fore did the utmost to hide his inward excite- 
ment and restlessness. Had his love for his 
old, faithful servant not been too deeply rooted, 
he could have hated him for the pleasure he 
withheld from him. In hours of thought and 
reason, Mr. Waldheim told himself that Jacob 
8 * 


90 AUREOLA; OR, THE B L A C K S H E E P. 

was right, and that he (Wilhelm) must act as 
the old man had advised. 

When he entered the garden on Thursday 
afternoon, and Mr. Gutmann called to him, 
astonished at seeing him about to pass their 
table, he felt joy, saying to himself that, now, it 
was not his doing ; and when the old gentle- 
man asked why nobody had seen him these 
few last days, he threw a conscious look upon 
Caroline ; but, seeing her quietly nibbling at a 
sweet biscuit, and smiling unconcernedly at a 
gentleman by her side, (Mr. Herder, one of her 
most ardent admirers,) he felt piqued, and re- 
plied, loud enough for her to hear, “that he 
had not felt inclined to go out ; ” and taking 
no notice of the surprised look of Mrs. Gut- 
mann, saluted the party, and left. Caroline’s 
face haunted him while mingling with the 
crowd. Neither misery nor sadness was to be 
read there. The smiles were as sunny and 
the eyes as sparkling as when they had last 
met, with no sign of any wish that he might 
remain with her. Cool and composed was her 
bow in return for his when leaving; turning 
instantly to Mr. Herder, who, charmed at this 
chance, exulted in his good luck. When the 
young couples proceeded to one of the large 
grass plots, overshaded by stately trees, to 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. QI 

engage in games, and Mr. Waldheim, with a 
young girl upon his arm, passed Mr. Gut- 
mann’s table, Caroline had just accepted Mr. 
Herder’s arm, allowing herself to be led away 
to join the others. She bowed to Mr. Wald- 
heim’s partner, saying to him, “We are late: 
they have begun their play already;” and 
with easy grace took the place Mr. Herder 
had selected for her. Waldheim watched her 
closely ; and, when going home that evening, 
had to acknowledge to himself that he could 
not detect the slightest change in her. Her 
step had been as light as before, and her laugh 
rang as silvery as ever. Nevertheless, he 
would persevere in his distant behavior. He 
had now begun, and the worst was over. He 
would continue a month, at least ; and then — 
he did not say what — probably he did not 
know himself. Jacob felt deeply when he 
read in his master’s face that his trouble had 
not grown lighter from that afternoon’s expe- 
rience. 

Caroline — what of her ? Had the changed 
behavior of Wilhelm Waldheim indeed passed 
unperceived ? and, if not, had it really affected 
her at all ? 

She had observed it, and it had impressed 
her; but in a manner altogether unexpected 


92 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP, 

by him. When he stopped making Fenster- 
paraden, she had simply wondered — supposed 
him to be ill, but not seriously. When she 
saw him behave in such an altogether aston- 
ishing manner at the garden, even to saying 
that he “ did not feel like going out,” she said, 
within herself, “ Fib number one ; ” and when 
he paraded his young partner before their 
table, she counted “ fib number two ; ” and 
whenever she caught him acting another “fib” 
that afternoon, her spirit rose, her heart ex- 
panded, and she grew gracious to every one, 
except to him — who, as she said to herself, 
“was such a poor dissembler.” That evening, 
when alone in her room, she gave a joyous 
laugh, saying, “Your game is a stale one, 
Mr. Waldheim, and one a woman easily sees 
through. You will come back again; if not 
the next, the next, next time. Who ever 
saw’ 7ne lose a battle ! I love you, darling,” 
and her voice softened, the light of her eyes 
grew tender, and her face assumed a thought- 
ful expression. “ Yes, I love you dearly, Wil- 
helm Waldheim: why cannot you see it in my 
smiles and happy features ? Must women look 
sad and thoughtful when they love? Must 
reproachful, meaning glances retard the pro- 
posals which so well may be made when the 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 93 

countenance expresses of what the heart is 
full ? Is it necessary that you torture your- 
self by avoiding me ? Foolish, loving, dark 
gypsy ! But I will lead you a pretty dance. 
You have brought it upon yourself. You are 
not different from papa and mamma, nor more 
difficult, and I have always managed them — 
whether by smiles or pouts, it is all the same. 
They love me ; you love me. Therefore I shall 
get you around again; if not by coaxing, by — 
no matter — some way or other; but I shall 
end as conqueror.” 

Next Sunday was a picnic. Caroline de- 
voted herself entirely to Mr. Herder, giving 
scarcely a look to poor Mr. Waldheim, who, 
with another lady by his side, was deeply 
wounded by this indifference. Several meet- 
ings passed in this manner, with no change. 
Wilhelm Waldheim despaired — while she 
seemed all unconscious of the pain she in- 
flicted. 

One day, as Caroline passed her kitchen, she 
heard Barbara and Lena speak eagerly. Lena 
said: “You may believe me — I heard it at 
the fountain. Katharine, his servant, told us 
that she thinks her master is going travelling 
again. He seems to be out of sorts, and old 
Jacob has a hard time ; and, do you know, 


94 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

Katharine said that it was all about our young 
mistress ! she will not lend her ear to his ex- 
pressions of love ; and so he intends leaving 
his home again — but not before autumn.” 

Caroline had heard enough. Her smiles 
had not brought him back to her, so she must 
dissemble. She did. Mr. Herder was sur- 
prised at her changed behavior, when next 
they met; and so was Mr. Waldheim. 

Her face was quiet. Around the sweet 
mouth no dimples played, and the joyous, 
ringing laugh had given way to a sad smile. 
From every side she was asked whether she 
was ill. A low “No,” accompanied by a mourn- 
ful shake of the head, was the only reply; while 
lingering glances at Mr. Waldheim wrung his 
heart. He anxiously inquired what was the 
matter ? 

“ Nothing you would care for, Mr. Wald- 
heim,” and that voice and look made him feel 
like a villain. She had left his side, in the 
mean time, and he could find no other oppor- 
tunity to speak to her again that afternoon. 

Thus several weeks went by, and Caroline’s 
very appearance was a reproach to him. Jacob 
told him that Katharine heard Lena say her 
mistress was very low - spirited ; that nobody 
could account for it; that she never sang as 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEEP. 9 $ 

she used to do ; that the flowers withered, for 
she neglected them; that her piano was never 
touched now ; and that her parents were in 
despair, for she refused to have the advice of 
a physician. 

Mr. Waldheim would long ago have thrown 
himself at her feet, told her of his fervent 
love, and begged her forgiveness ; but she 
avoided him. For that he did not blame her ; 
for he told himself that it was he who had 
giyen her pain, and, therefore, she had a right 
to be angry with him. He had driven the 
gladness from her heart, and the sunshine from 
her eyes. He deserved to be treated with 
coldness by her. If she only would smile 
again, as trustingly and confidingly as of old, 
he would never, never again cause her any pain. 

Caroline, when back from the scenes of her 
triumphs, and alone at home, would laugh and 
say : “You are coming around, Wilhelm Wald- 
heim ; but not yet will I smile upon you, al- 
though I love you truly; but you make me 
suffer for not allowing me to be myself. You 
force, me to look sad and downcast, when I 
wish to laugh ; you make me give up my music 
and cease my singing, when all the while I feel 
joyous ; you force me to let my flowers perish 
— all these things must be avenged. You 


96 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

make me suffer — I shall make you suffer, too, 
darling.” 

Some more weeks had gone by, when Jacob 
entered his master’s room with a disturbed 
countenance. “There is strange news from 
Mr. Gutmann’s house. Katharine brought it 
just now from the fountain.” 

‘‘ What is it? ” asked Mr. Waldheim, vainly 
trying to hide his excitement. 

“ Miss Gutmann has left Seefeld.” 

“What do you mean? explain!” shouted 
his master. 

“ She insisted that her parents should place 
her in an Institute to improve her French, as 
she said. They resisted long, saying that her 
French needed no improvement ; but she had, 
at last, her way, as usual, and her father went 
this morning with her to Genf (Geneva) in Swit- 
zerland, where he has friends, and where they 
say the finest French is spoken. She will be 
placed in an Institute there. Her mother is in 
despair, and the house is very lonely, so they 
report.” 

With a gesture of anguish Mr. Waldheim 
motioned his servant away, and, when alone, 
he groaned aloud, saying: “And it is I who 
have driven her from her home 1 ” 



CHAPTER X. 

FOR ONE YEAR. 

Caroline had last met Wilhelm 
leim, she told herself, when 
that to see him again was be- 
yond her strength. She loved him 
truly, and would be unable to meet any more 
those hungry eyes which followed her every 
movement. They had pained her deeply last 
'Thursday, and it had been a hard task to avoid 
their pleading language. He loved her for 
herself only, she did not doubt ; but one more 
trial he must go through, she resolved, if it 
were for nothing else but to show him that 
there are girls who cannot be made to dance 
after every tune these “ lords of creation ” 
choose to whistle. Therefore she had nerved 
herself at their last meeting, and borne her 
heart-ache bravely. 

She had been preparing her parents these 
9 G 97 



98 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

several weeks for the request she intended to 
make, and sundry hints about her wish to per- 
fect herself in French had made them feel 
very uncomfortable. She renewed the attack, 
and, as usual, got what she had wanted, not, 
however, without a hard struggle ; and so it 
came to pass that, as Jacob had correctly re- 
ported, she had left town, in company with her 
father, to be placed in a finishing school in 
great repute at that time. 

Jacob, who always anxiously listened to Kath- 
arine, his nymph of the fountain, and who had, 
with inward joy, been informed of the increas- 
ing change in Miss Gutmann’s manners, had, 
at the day of her departure, particularly en- 
joyed Katharine’s report about the sadness 
and down-castness of the golden-haired young 
lady, when, like a thunder-clap, the addition that 
she had left town turned his joy into conster- 
nation and fear.. Not that he for one moment 
doubted that all this was in favor of his young 
master’s success ; but because he was afraid 
Mr. Waldheim would not take the same view 
of the case. It was, therefore, with an uneasy 
feeling that he entered the room, and, with 
doubtful voice, imparted the startling news. 

How his master had received it has been 
told in a previous chapter ; but the conse- 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEER. 99 

quences of this to him so distressing intelli- 
gence have yet to be related. 

A week had passed — seven days not easily 
forgotten by Wilhelm Waldheim. One plan 
after the other had been adopted, only to be as 
quickly rejected again. What should he do — 
which way pursue ? To stay in town, with her 
not there, would be simply torture. To go, 
and thus, perhaps, lose her forever, made him 
nearly mad to think of. Poor Jacob got rude- 
ly treated at that time, for it was he who had 
brought on this trouble, Wilhelm unreason- 
ably argued, forgetting that, before he had 
listened to his servant’s advice, he had not 
been much better off. To the old man’s im- 
ploring prayer — “not to judge him too harsh- 
ly, as yet ; for the end would sanctify the 
means” — he lent a deaf ear, and the house 
was altogether a sad one. A second and a 
third week went slowly by, when Mr. Wald- 
heim seemed to have resolved. 

At eleven o’clock in the forenoon, Mr. Gut- 
mann and his wife were surprised by a visit 
from him. After the usual greetings were 
over, Mr. Gutmann inquired into the reason 
of this unexpected honor? 

“ I intend to go to Genf.” 

The lady gave a slight start. 


100 AUREOLA: OR, THE B L A C K S H E E P. 

“To see your daughter,” the young gen- 
tleman continued, audaciously. 

“ Sir ! ” 

“And I am here,” he proceeded, taking no 
notice of the interruption, “ to ask you for a 
letter of introduction to the director of the 
Institute.” He was determined now, and no- 
thing could hold him back. 

Mr. Gutmann had removed his pipe from 
his lips, and his features assumed a forbidding 
aspect. “ Mr. Waldheim, your request is sim- 
ply impertinent. I am sorry to speak thus 
to the son of my old friend. You are long 
enough among us to know that I could never 
do it. You must be well aware, should you 
visit my daughter, it would only make her be 
talked about.” 

“ My dear sir, be pleased to listen to me. I 
know all you tell me ; but extraordinary cases 
require extraordinary means. I love your 
daughter — have loved her ever since I saw 
her first.” 

“ Why have you not told her so, then, long 
ago, when she was here ? My wife and I 
should not have objected to your becoming 
our son-in-law,” interrupted Mr. Gutmann, 
somewhat mollified. 

“She has not given me any encourage- 
ment.” 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. lOI 

“ I hope not, sir ! I hope not. Girls in this 
country rather hide their love, if they feel any, 
than parade it. To discover it, i^ left to us 
men.” 

“You misunderstand me, sir, or I expressed 
myself badly. Your daughter has given me 
no chance of telling her my feelings.” 

A slight smile played around the corners of 
the old gentleman’s mouth at the allusion to 
the dance Caroline had led Waldheim, and 
of which her parents were not quite so igno- 
rant as she thought. 

“ Tut ! tut ! young gentleman, this is exactly 
the charm in these affairs. These fair crea- 
tures keep us in suspense as long as possible ; 
and it is our pride to have wit enough to van- 
quish them at last — to carry their hearts as 
trophies from the scene of strife.” 

“This is my intention, sir ; but I will do it in 
my own way. I shall start for Genf early to- 
morrow morning.” 

“ Impossible ! I am ready to give you a 
helping hand, but as for — ” 

“I will have no second-hand assurance of 
your daughter’s love to me, if I should have 
been so fortunate as to inspire such a feeling 
in her heart. If you mean by your help that 
you will convey to her my proposal by letter 

9 * 


102 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEE P. 

— I shall hear the reply from her own lips, or 
not at all ! I should not have disturbed you 

— as yet,” he added, seeing the old gentle- 
man’s brow clouding over ; “ but I thought it 
would look more proper to the director of 
the Institute could he see that you are aware 
of it.” 

An expressive look from his wife, as if to 
say, “He will go, one way or the other ; there- 
fore comply with his desire,” induced Mr. Gut- 
mann to say impatiently, “ Well, have your 
own way.” 

“Thank you ; when shall I send for it? ” 

“ It will be ready this evening.” 

“Will you not wish me success?” Mr. 
Waldheim said in a low voice, addressing both 
parents. 

“With all our hearts — if it only were done 
in another manner,” Mrs. Gutmann replied in 
a gentle voice. Waldheim only smiled, and 
took his leave. 

Caroline, in the mean time, had not had 
quite the pleasant feelings away from home 
she had anticipated. As the first week passed 
'with no sign from him whom her heart yearned 
after now, since she had no more opportunity 
to see and to torment him any longer, dis- 
turbing thoughts would trouble her, although 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. IO3 

she tried hard to keep up her spirits. When 
the second week also came to an end, and 
in none of the letters from^ home his name 
was mentioned, she mused, and asked her- 
self whether she had not gone too far; and 
whether Wilhelm Waldheim loved her less 
fondly than she had thought ? She grew 
less bright than was her wont, and remained 
oftener and longer alone in her rooni. She 
was there when a servant entered, handing 
her a card, saying that the gentleman was wait- 
ing in the reception-room. 

“ He has come ! he is here ! ” she cried, and, 
without another thought, or one moment’s 
reflection as how to behave, following the dic- 
tates of her loving heart only, flew down stairs, 
and was closed the next moment, with a cry of 
delight, within the arms of her lover. 

“Wilhelm, my darling, you have come — at 
last.” 

Passionate kisses were pressed upon her. lips, 
and, with caressing hand, Wilhelm raised her 
golden locks to his dewy eyes. “Aureola! 
mine for ever. Let me hear from your own 
sweet lips that you will be my wife — my own 
heart’s darling.” 

At these words, Caroline recovered herself, 
and became aware that she had answered this 


104 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEJ>. 

question before it had been put to her. Burn- 
ing blushes suffused her face ; and, with a sob 
of shame, she unwound herself from his loving 
embrace, to throw herself, with tears of morti- 
fication, upon a chair. 

In a second he was by her side. Taking 
her hand gently, he said, in a voice trembling 
with emotion: “Aureola — for thus I always 
called you to myself — why these tears? You 
cannot be ashamed of having acted as your 
heart has prompted ? What can it matter to 
us, darling, whether we have or have not ob- 
served the usual conventional rules? Could 
you know the indescribable joy I felt when, for- 
getting to calculate, you opened your heart be- 
fore me, allowing me to see the stainless love 
it has in its farthest recess ! Dearest, wipe your 
tears, and let me see only the sweet, smiling 
face that I was famishing for these three last 
weeks.” Then, raising her head lovingly, he 
asked again: “Aureola, love, will you be my 
wife?” 

A low “ Yes ” was her answer. 

“ Will you prepare to come home with me 
to-morrow, darling ? ” 

A decided “No” was the response. 

“Aureola! You cannot mean that you in- 
tend to remain here ? ” 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. IO5 

“ Why not, sir ? And the golden head was 
raised quickly, and the beautiful face showed 
• its most determined expression. “ I have been 
placed here for a year, to improve my French, 
and here I shall stay.” 

“ Do you care so little for being near me, or 
not, darling?” and his eyes looked reproach- 
fully into hers. 

“Why not clothe your thoughts in correct 
language ? ” she asked, looking mischievously 
into his face ; “ and ask — ‘ Can you live without 
me ? ’ Oh, vanity and conceit ! Yes, although 
I love you dearly, Wilhelm, I shall stay my 
year out. You will write often, love?” she 
asked, tenderly, trying to repress the tears 
that threatened to fill her eyes ; “ and you will 
be true to your golden-haired darling? In a 
year, you will come for me with papa, and then 
I shall return home with you, our betrothal will 
be publicly announced, and then — ” 

“ Our wedding shall bind us forever ! ” • 

“ That is a different matter, sir,” she smiled, 
tapping him playfully upon his cheek. “ I do 
not choose to speak of that — as yet. You 
saw my parents before you left Seefeld ? ” 

‘‘ I did.” And he told her about his inter- 
view with them. 

“ Poor, poor darlings ! We give them a 


I06 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLA CH SHEER. 


great deal of trouble by our improper be- 
havior, Wilhelm.” 

One long embrace — one deep, long draught • 
from the tender, loving eyes, and — their meet- 
ing was over. 




CHAPTER XL 

CLEARING HIS MOTHER’S ROOM. 

HE year went slowly by for the 
lovers ; but, with their eyes stead- 
fastly upon that happy time when 
they should be reunited not to part 
any more, they kept up their courage brave- 
ly ; compensating themselves, until then, with 
tender letters, in which they expressed their 
fervent feelings toward each other. Caroline 
studied diligently, and Wilhelm made use of 
his time by planning how best to set his house 
in order for the happy day which would make 
Aureola his own ; for he had no doubt that 
he would easily induce her to name an early 
time for their marriage. Her parents were 
not idle either. They rejoiced to have Wilhelm 
Waldheim for their son, and that their darling 
would remain in the city. They resolved that a 
splendid outfit should be given to her ; and, as 

107 



I08 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACRT SHEEP. 

in Germany it is the bride who furnishes her 
future home, (from garret to cellar,) Mrs. Gut- 
mann was over head and ears in business. 
First, the most elegant furniture had to be 
ordered — a particular set for each room ; and 
Mr. Waldheim had, of course, to be present 
at these important business transactions, his 
taste being continually consulted. Then a num- 
ber of sewing-girls were engaged, to stitch and 
make up the numerous articles of linen to 
be used in a complete household. Caroline’s 
mother intended to give her daughter a thirty- 
six-fold outfit. That means, of every article 
(as table-cloths, table-napkins, kitchen-towels 
and hand-towels, linen pocket-handkerchiefs, 
stockings, and so forth,) thirty-six pieces — the 
same quantity of pillow-cases, each dozen dif- 
ferently embroidered or braided, hem-stitched 
or ruffled. The six beautiful beds, each filled 
with the best and whitest of feathers, cost great 
labor and attention. Ticking was bought by 
pieces, and women employed to make it up ; 
besides all the other necessary articles belong- 
ing to the domestic trousseau of a German lady. 
The parents had also a very earnest consulta- 
tion as to what sum of money should be given 
as a marriage-portion ; for no German girl, 
whose parents can afford it, marries without 


AUREOLA; OR, THE B L A C K S H E E P, IO9 

bringing a sum of money to her husband, ac- 
cording to her parents’ means ; which, how- 
ever, she does not consider as her own prop- 
erty, but her husband’s. No girl — not even 
the poorest — marries, without bringing at least 
a six-fold outfit with her ; and if it should 
be quite impossible for her parents to do so, 
the future husband supplies it — keeping it a 
strict secret, if possible, even from his own 
relations. 

Mr. Waldheim had made great alterations 
in his already superb house. There was but 
one small room that had, as yet, not been 
touched. Its windows looked out upon the 
flower garden ; and it was the loveliest and 
sunniest apartment of his dwelling. It used to 
be his mother’s own room, and had not been 
disarranged since her death. He had dreaded 
to disturb its peaceful aspect ; but the time 
had come. Four weeks more and his Aureola 
would return home, and he wished to show her 
every thing ready for her reception. Mrs. Gut- 
mann and he had decided that the choice of 
the furniture for that particular room should 
be left to Caroline, as it was to be her own 
sanctum when his wife. He intended to re- 
move every thing that was in that chamber 
with his own hand ; and, for this purpose, he 

10 




no AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

entered it one morning'. There were the soft, 
cosey chairs, whose color time had faded ; the 
curiously carved desk, whose secret recesses 
much had interested him when he was little ; 
the inlaid work - table, with its shelves and 
small, numerous drawers ; the low stool on 
which his mother was wont to sit ; the birds’ 
cages, with no lively warblers in them now, 
were hanging by their silver chains, sus- 
pended from the window-frames ; the beauti- 
fully polished floor was covered with dust, and 
the frames of the oil-paintings of his father, 
mother, and himself (when a boy of ten) were 
tarnished and old-fashioned. He opened the 
window, and a gentle morning breeze swayed 
the lace curtains, yellow from age, and he sat 
himself on the low stool his mother had occu- 
pied so often, listening to the music of birds 
skipping from branch to branch upon the tall 
trees outside. Sad thoughts filled his mind as 
he looked upon the portraits of his beloved 
parents. He determined that they should 
be newly framed, and, if Aureola also wished, 
should always remain where they were now, 
for in this room he and his future wife would 
oftenest be. He would take them out of their 
cases himself, and the old frames should be 
safely put by, not destroyed. He got up and 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLA CRT SHEER. Ill 


took down his mother’s picture first. This 
occupied some time, for in former days work 
was made strong. At last it was done. Jacob 
was called, and brought an old box, into which, 
wrapped in soft cloth, they were put. Wilhelm 
told him then that for the moment he did not 
need his services, but that he would call him 
to remove the box. His own likeness was 
now removed, and next his father’s lifted from 
the wall. He had removed the boards at its 
back, when he discovered that there was an- 
other back. Wondering at this unusual par- 
ticularity in framing a picture, he wrenched 
off a piece of the wood, when out fell — a 
long tin-box. 

“ The tin-box ! ” he exclaimed, and his heart 
beat loudly. “ What might it bring him — 
what contain ? ” There it lay unopened, and 
Wilhelm looked at it in bewilderment. 

At last, with almost recoiling hand, he picked 
it up and tore off the cover. Sheets of thin 
paper, written closely over, fell from it ; and 
when he heard them rustle to the ground his 
heart felt drawn as if from pain. He feared 
to gather them again, for an unaccountable 
dread took hold of him, and he sat immovable 
for some time ; then, shaking off this feeling 
of fear, he stooped down, saying to himself: 


II2 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

“Why fear, before I have reason for it? I 
must know, sooner or later ; therefore at it 
at once ! ” He collected the leaves and com- 
menced reading. 

It was the story of his father’s life when 
young. It attracted him greatly. He finished 
page after page, smiling at this, laughing at 
that. Suddenly his face grew grave, his brow 
knit, his hands closed, his eyes flashed — still he 
read on eagerly and anxiously ; then his fea- 
tures softened again ; his look became sad ; his 
hand trembled ; his breast heaved ; and at last, 
with a cry of mortal anguish, he finished the 
manuscript, and, covering his face with both 
hands, threw himself upon a sofa in inexpress- 
ible despair and wretchedness. 

Hour after hour glided by, until at last he 
recovered himself. Leaning his head upon 
his hand, he sighed deeply, despondingly. De- 
spair was written upon his features, and a 
dreary, hopeless agony dulled his eyes. His 
lips moved as if speaking, and from time to 
time a bitter smile curled around his mouth. 
“ Farewell to love, happiness, and hope,” he 
murmured, in a broken voice ; “all is deranged 
— all has fled! Only life remains! A life of 
disgrace, darkness, and loneliness ! Fare thee 
well. Aureola, my Ray of Gold ! O father, 
father, what a legacy you have left to me! ” 



CHAPTER XII. 


SORE HEARTS. 



|ACOB was greatly astonished when, 
after several hours, he again looked 
111 into the room, and perceived that 
his master was not yet done with 
the pictures ; and what still more puzzled 
him was that every thing lay as when he had 
last been there. The frame of Mrs. Wald- 
heim’s picture and that of Wilhelm’s were 
removed, but his father’s portrait had been evi- 
dently hardly touched, except by the removal 
of a few boards at the back. His master was 
kneeling on the ground, picking up sheets of 
closely written paper, folding them, and laying 
them in a kind of absent manner in a tin box. 
He* neither turned on Jacob’s entrance nor 
seemed to heed his question whether he could 
be of any use ? but kept on mechanically re- 
placing the papers. Jacob now asked whether, 



1 14 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

as it was dinner-time, he wished to have his 
meal served ? 

Mr. Waldheim looked quickly up, saying, a 
little impatiently, “ Do not disturb me now, 
Jacob ; I shall be down presently.” 

His voice sounded strangely, and the old 
man left the room reluctantly, wondering what 
could be the matter with him, for he seemed 
to be quite out of sorts. 

When, at last, Wilhelm came down and took 
his seat at the table, but neither ate nor drank 
— took not the slightest notice of Jacob’s ques- 
tion whether he wished this or that — keep- 
ing his eyes fixed, in a yearning sort of way, 
upon one place, and looking as if some fear- 
ful blight had fallen upon him — Jacob doubted 
no longer that something dreadful must have 
happened. 

“ Herr Wilhelm,” and his voice trembled 
with sympathy, “what has gone wrong? For 
heaven’s sake do not look so strange and 
wild ; it pains me, and frightens me at the 
same time.” 

A deep sigh was the only reply. 

“Tell me, Herr Wilhelm, that I may help 
you. It would not be for the first time I found 
a way how to be of use to you.” He took his 
master’s hand, pressing it to his faithful heart. 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEER. II5 

“Trust me, dear sir, and confide in me. I 
would give my life-blood for you, Herr Wil- 
helm. You must know, by this time, that I 
would die to see you happy.” And a big hot 
tear fell from the honest eyes upon the hand 
he held in his own. 

“ Dear, old friend,” said Mr. Waldheim, in a 
voice husky with emotion, “ how could I doubt 
your unwavering devotion ? But, Jacob,” and 
the deep, full voice trembled, “ your life could 
not save me from the trial I have to go through. 
Your faithful heart can avail me nothing in this 
matter ; and the anguish and pain I must en- 
dure cannot be averted. Jacob, my engage- 
ment with Miss Gutmann must be broken 
off!” and the stricken man nearly shrieked 
the last words. 

“ Do not say so, dear master. Surely, you 
must be mistaken. You are always wont to 
look at every thing from the darkest side. 
Disclose your trouble to me, and I will put it 
to you in a brighter light. Why, to separate 
from Miss Gutmann would cause you to be 
unhappy for life, sir. It would blight your 
whole future — therefore do not resolve so 
rashly.” 

“ My future will be covered with darkness. 
Nevertheless, as an honest man, I must give 


Il6 AUREOLA: OR, THE B L A C K S H E E P. 

her back her word. I alone must suffer, and — 
this is not all ! Go now, Jacob. I wish to be 
alone: and, believe me, if I thought that any 
one could help me, I would come to you, my 
faithful friend.” 

Jacob retired, hesitatingly ; but he knew 
that for the present he could be of no use ; 
yet he swore to be watchful, and, at the first 
chance that offered itself, he would step in — 
and even act, if necessary — without consulting 
his master. 

The four weeks until Caroline’s return 
passed rapidly by — too fast for Wilhelm Wald- 
heim, at all events, who waited for that day as 
a man for his execution. How could he tell 
her of the necessity for their separation ? and 
when ? Should he communicate the dreadful 
news by letter, or by word of mouth ? Should 
he tell her simply that he wished their engage- 
ment broken off, letting her believe that his 
love for her had been only pastime ? or should 
he tell, face to face, and entreat her to have 
faith in his never-dying love, although they 
should separate for ever ? 

Those were hard questions for Wilhelm 
Waldheim to answer, and bitter hours in which 
to resolve. Meanwhile, their correspondence 
had been kept up ; and, when Caroline won- 


AUREOLA; OR, THE EL A CRT SHEER. 11 / 

dered at the great change she detected in his 
letters, she pacified her murmuring heart with 
the thought that her poor, loving darling was 
at the end of his patience, and that it was full 
time that she went home. His letters some- 
times were cool, wanting the fervor she was 
used to finding in them, as if he wished to pre- 
pare her for the blow that awaited her ; then, 
again, they overflowed with expressions of love 
and assurances of his never-ceasinor affection 

o 

for her, as if wanting to make up for the short- 
comings of the previous missive. He had told 
her, in his last letter, that he would not accom- 
pany her father, as several urgent reasons pre- 
vented his keeping the promise he had made 
to her ; but, as it made a difference of only a 
few days in their meeting, he would try to bear 
it as well as he could. Oh, if she only knew 
with what dread he awaited that meeting, she 
would not have pouted at the “only a few days 
of difference in their meeting ; ” but she was 
ignorant of his sufferings, and therefore won- 
dered that two days, more or less, should make 
such a slight difference to him, while to her it 
seemed ages to wait. 

Caroline was home at last; and her be- 
trothed was announced. She met him with a 
joyful countenance and love beaming from her 


Il8 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

eyes; but stepped back, wounded by the ap- 
parent coldness of his demeanor. Could she 
have looked into his soul, and seen the agony 
and the suffering, she would have taken him 
to her heart, to soothe his pain with words of 
love. 

“Caroline — ” He never before had called 
her by that name. To him she always had 
been “ Aureola ; ” and she felt chilled by this 
omission. 

“ Caroline,” he repeated again ; but, as if 
choked by this word, he stopped, turned pale, 
and at last broke out passionately, holding out 
his hands in pleading supplication — “Aureola, 
my darling, my love for ever — we must part ! 
I have prepared myself for weeks for this meet- 
ing, and gone over the sufferings of this mo- 
ment a hundred times, though I had nerved my- 
self to be composed and self-possessed ; but 
my rebellious heart will have its right, will not 
be subdued, and refuses to repeat the lesson I 
have tried to teach it. Aureola — I give you 
back your word.” He turned away his head 
to hide the hot tears that started to his eyes. 

Caroline had listened incredulously to him ; 
but, as if an icy hand had touched her heart, 
she shuddered when she perceived by his 
earnestness and the agony expressed in his 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLA CRT SHEER. 1 19 

features that he was serious, and asked in a 
frightened whisper, “ Do you not love me 
any longer, Wilhelm? What have I done, 
darling, to offend you? I have loved you truly, 
faithfully. Only you have been in my mind 
and in my heart since last we parted ; and 
only you I have ever loved. Oh ! do not say 
that you love me no more, that your affection 
for me has been only a fancy, swept away by 
one year’s absence.’’ Despairingly she grasped 
his hand, looking beseechingly into his face. 

A groan escaped his lips as he looked into 
the dear face so full of misery, and, with a 
voice that trembled with pain, he said : “ Never 
doubt my love, dearest; you, and only you, 
ever touched my heart to its core ; you only 
can make it vibrate and respond ; but, never- 
theless, we must part. Be strong,” he con- 
tinued, “darling, and lighten the burden that 
almost weighs me down, by being brave your- 
self. Whatever happens. Aureola mine, never 
doubt my love. You suffer because we must 
part ; but I have to carry yet another burden, 
which is heavier because I have to carry it 
alone, and that adds to my sorrow.” 

“ What makes our separation necessary ? ” 
she asked, in a broken voice. 

“ I cannot tell you, dearest ; it must remain 


120 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

a secret, to be known only to myself,” he an- 
swered, sadly. 

If you loved me truly you would confide 
in me,” she said, reproachfully. “ Do, do, dar- 
ling ; and let me also judge whether our love 
must indeed be sacrificed ? ” 

He hesitated — but only a moment; then 
he shook his head despondingly : “ I cannot 
tell you.” 

“You do not love another ? ” 

“I love only you — you, whom I must give 
up because I love you too well.” 

“ To separate for ever, Wilhelm ? ” and a 
pitiful, helpless look came into her beautiful 
eyes. 

He only nodded. His heart was breaking. 
“ Will you never tell me why, darling ? ” 

“ I must not. Why wring my heart,” he 
exclaimed, “that is so sore already? Ah! 
Aureola, if you knew what it costs me to lose 
you, my sunshine! my only joy ! ” 

“ What will you do ? ” 

“ I shall leave Seefeld again ; for how could 
I see you, knowing that I must not love you ! ” 
“ Oh ! do not go, Wilhelm ! For mercy’s 
sake, do not leave the city.” 

“ It is best that I should, dearest : you must 
forget me.” 


AUREOLA; OR, THE ELACRT SHEER. 121 


“ As you will forget me,” she responded 
tearfully. 

“Never, as long as I live, shall I forget my 
Ray oh Gold ! ” and he took her in his arms, 
pressing her to him as if he would never let 
her go ; then releasing her with a look of mis- 
ery and despair, he left the room quickly. 

Arriving at home, he gave orders to Jacob 
to get every thing ready for his departure; and, 
closing himself in his study, he wrote a long 
letter to Mr. Gutmann, telling him as much 
as he thought was necessary. 

When he left his home the next morning he 
told Jacob to keep him acquainted with all that 
happened in Seefeld, leaving that mournful old 
servant directions where to address his letters. 



II 



CHAPTER XIII. 

A PROPOSAL. 

EARLY a week had gone by before 
Caroline could fully realize that she 
indeed was separated from Wilhelm 
Waldheim, and that he had left See- 
feld never to return to her. No — that she 
should never have the right to love him, 
and to call him her husband, she could not 
and would not believe. Some fearful mystery 
had for the present come between them, and 
made it necessary that they should seem as 
strangers toward each other ; but as to living 
apart forever, that was a thought she would 
never harbor in her heart unless she were 
mad and had done with happiness. Thus 
Caroline kept up her hope and partly her 
spirits. She would not despair she said to 
herself, when her heart ached sorely and the 
days passed on wearily, but cling to the be- 



22 



AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 1 23 

lief that this fatal mystery would soon be lifted 
from them, and then she would laugh at Wil- 
helm, who so easily was cast down, and triumph 
at her own courage. Something of this kind 
she once told Jacob, whom she met in the 
street, bidding him write to his master not to 
lose heart, but only remain faithful, and all 
would yet go well. Tears were in her eyes 
while she sent these cheering words to the 
absent one ; but, wiping them hastily away, 
she assured Jacob that they flowed only be- 
cause she could not make those foolish eyes 
of hers quite comprehend what her heart 
told her must be true. “ Frequently she had 
heard, from Mr. Waldheim,” she added, smil- 
ing sweetly, “ how faithful and true a servant 
he was, and that his master always looked 
upon him more as a devoted friend than a 
domestic ; therefore she did not mind impart- 
ing to him what she so much wished his mas- 
ter to know.” 

Holding such consoling consultations contin- 
ually with her own self, lecturing her own yearn- 
ing heart when it was disposed to sink despond- 
ingly, Caroline managed to show a bright face 
to her friends ; and, as her engagement with 
Wilhelm Waldheim had fortunately been kept 
a secret — for, although people may have won- 


124 AUREOLA; OR, THE B LACK SHE EP, 

dered at the preparations they had noticed, yet 
when, after Miss Gutmann’s return from Switz- 
erland, Mr. Waldheim departed, and nothing 
further was heard, the whisperings died out ; 
and, as it is often the case in Germany that • 
mothers prepare their daughters’ trousseaux 
when they are quite young, those grand pur- 
chases and splendid orders which had been 
made and observed, were put down to the 
forethought of a provident and thoughtful 
mother — no one suspected that her bright 
smiles covered a heart ready to break at the 
least rude shock. 

Mr. Carl Herder, who, after Caroline’s re- 
turn from the Institute, recommenced his at- 
tentions to her, and who, now that Wald- 
heim was awa}^ had all, as it seemed, in his 
favor, followed up his advantage with remark- 
able zeal and perseverance. Ever at her side 
at every public meeting, making Fenster-pa- 
raden at a furious rate, he showed clearly that 
a year’s absence had not had the power to 
diminish the brightness of Caroline’s image 
in his heart. He continued his courtincr for 

O 

about four months ; but, after that time, being 
evidently not nearer to the realization of his 
cherished wishes — although the lady accepted 
his services as cavalier on every occasion 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 12 $ 


with the most charming of smiles, appar- 
ently meant to keep him there, and would 
not allow him to become more than her most 
obedient servant ; for, whenever his voice as- 
• sumed a lover- like accent, or his features a 
more tender expression, the smiles faded as 
if by magic, and a haughty light in her eyes 
seemed to warn him not to go farther — Mr. 
Herder determined, very much against his 
inclination, to address himself to Miss Gut- 
mann’s parents, and to ask them to give him 
their daughter in marriage. 

Mr. Gutmann and his wife, having expected 
that gentleman’s proposal sooner or later, and 
not being averse to seeing their daughter be- 
come Mrs. Herder, as — since Mr. Waldheim 
had gone — this gentleman was decidedly the 
first party in Seefeld in every respect, even when 
looked at by the critical eye of loving parents, 
had considered well the answer to be given. 

“ It was unlucky,” Mrs. Gutmann said to her 
husband, in one of her confidential conversa- 
tions, “ that this proposal should come so very 
close upon the broken engagement; for, as 
it could not be supposed that their daughter 
would already have rooted her love for Mr. 
Waldheim out of her heart — for Caroline had 
not been so watchful of her behavior at home 
1 1 * 


126 AUREOLA; OR, THE REACH SHEER. 

as she was when in society — there was, she 
feared, not much hope for poor Mr. Herder; 
and it was a pity that it should be so, as 
there could be no offer so satisfactory in 
every point.” 

As Mr. Gutmann entirely agreed with his 
wife, the consultation ended by Mr. Gutmann 
writing an extremely polite letter to the suitor, 
telling him that “ they regretted to say that, 
for the present, there seemed to be very little 
chance of their daughter looking with favor 
upon any proposal of marriage, as she evi- 
dently seemed to have no thought of giving 
up her liberty; but that, if Mr. Herder’s at- 
tachment to her was of such depth and fervor 
as to live out a year, there might be reason 
to believe that he might then be able to win her 
love. As for themselves, they felt highly hon- 
ored by the preference for their daughter ; and 
remained his,” and so forth. 

The next day Mr. Gutmann received an 
answer to his letter, in which Mr. Herder ex- 
pressed his certainty that his love for Miss 
Gutmann was strong and lasting enough to 
let him grasp at the hope of perhaps winning 
her after the lapse of a year. “ He should 
wish very much, however, to have this kept a 
secret from her, as then her behavior would be 
unbiased.” 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEER, 12 / 

Caroline’s parents congratulated themselves 
on their good fortune in having secured a 
good, honorable husband for their darling ; 
for, they said, “ she will marry sooner or later ; 
and after a few years have passed over her 
first disappointment, her heart will be as buoy- 
ant as before.” 

Soon after this event, they proposed to her 
to travel, and, with glistening eyes, she ac- 
cepted this proposal : for it had become a 
harder and harder task for her to pacify her 
loving heart with only such meagre food as 
• hoping against hope. One thought alone 
could now give her courage, and that was un- 
bounded faith in Waldheim’s constancy; and 
the new chance of perhaps meeting him in her 
travels, actually sent her singing about the 
house. 




CHAPTER XIV. 


IN STACHELBERG. 



|WITZERLAND, as Caroline desired, 
was to be the country to be visited 
first; and as her parents undertook 
to travel solely for her sake, her 
wishes were attended to. Whether they should 
remain a long or a short time at the places 
they intended to visit — whether they should 
stop for hours or for months at this village or 
that town, was altogether left to her decision. 
She was to do as she pleased. She should 
lead, and they would follow — anything, so that 
she benefited. Very capriciously did Caroline 
make use of her privilege. Sometimes, when 
entering a prettily situated village, she would 
rapturously exclaim that “she would not desert 
this lovely spot for weeks ! that she must see 
all its little paths and pleasant roads, and ex- 
plore its whole neighborhood ; ’’ but hardly a 
day or two had gone by when she wearied, and 

128 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEEP. 1 29 

her interest in its applauded beauty vanished, 
and she would restlessly express her wish to 
resume their journey. Thus it was with al- 
most every change they made: at first the 
warmest enthusiasm, and soon after a cooling 
off, and a restless desire to go farther. The 
reason of this restlessness and want of change 
sprang from the hope of accidentally meeting 
Wilhelm Waldheim. As soon as she entered 
a town or village, her eyes eagerly scanned 
every face that they encountered ; and when 
day after day passed, and the anxiously sought- 
for countenance was not -found, she told her- 
self that “at their next station, perhaps, she 
must find him,” and urged her parents to con- 
tinue this hopeless chase. Under these emo- 
tions her spirit changed. Bright and lively in 
the first few days of her stay at a new place, 
her parents would congratulate each other on 
having adopted such a wise plan as travelling, 
hoping that, in the course of a year, Caroline’s 
depression would give way, and her former 
cheerful and sprightly disposition be restored ; 
but no sooner had they been a short time at a 
place, than she became sad and silent, and a 
look of loneliness stole into her eyes, which 
distressed them, and made them fear that they 
had rejoiced too soon. 


I 


130 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

In this manner they had reached Glarus, the 
capital of the canton of that name, very se- 
cludedly situated, being shut in by the Alps. 
Mr. and Mrs. Gutmann wondered, after a 
week’s stay in this town, that their darling, as 
yet, had shown no inclination to leave. Her 
spirits also seemed not so variable as usual, 
and, with minds much relieved, they noticed 
that she seemed even to take a fancy to some 
of the people of Glarus — perhaps won by their 
simplicity of manners, which the inhabitants 
of that town have retained, possibly owing to 
their comparative seclusion from the rest of 
the world. 

Two weeks — three weeks — still Caroline 
seemed satisfied. Every thing remarkable in 
the town and neighborhood had been visited 
and seen ; but one day she proposed an ex- 
cursion to Stachelberg, the exquisitely situated 
^ hotel and baths — built on an eminence on the 
opposite side of the Linth ; surrounded by tor- 
rents, rocks, and glaciers, and much reputed as 
a watering-place, with very beautiful environs. 

Once there, she desired to remain, as the 
wild country attracted her; and she wished 
thence to visit the different water-falls, and the 
paths leadings for a time, through pleasant 
woods and green pastures. 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. I3I 

She now took short walks every day — 
sometimes alone, sometimes in company with 
her parents. 

One day she set out directly after break- 
fast, telling her mother that perhaps she might 
stay away longer than usual, as she intended 
to cross the ‘ Pantenbriicke ; ’ from which, as 
she had heard, a beautiful path runs through 
woods and meadows. She had walked per- 
haps two hours, when a turn in the road 
brouo^ht her to a charming little house, built in 
the middle of a garden. Going close up to 
the dense hedge that enclosed this little place, 
she heard the sweet voice of a woman ; and 
then, as if in answer to a question, a child say : 
“No, mamma; but papa promised to join us 
presently.” Having nothing to do, and being 
wearied from her walk, Caroline sat down, out- 
side of the hedge, but under its shade. She 
could not see the speakers, the bushes being 
too closely intergrown, but she could hear 
what they said. 

“ When is papa going ? ” asked the childish 
voice. 

“ Almost immediately, my son. Ah ! there 
he comes — run, my child.” 

A few minutes afterward, Caroline heard a 
manly voice, which made her heart beat wildly. 


132 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLA CRT SHEEP. 

and struck terror to her soul. Taking firm 
hold of some part of the hedge, she pulled with 
unnatural strength, and succeeded in displacing 
several branches — just enough to make a 
small clearing in the fence, that enabled her to 
observe the little group on the other side of 
the hedge. The lady — for such she evidently 
appeared to be — was very pretty, with a gen- 
tle, winning face. The boy, about four years 
old, was handsome, with an open, honest coun- 
tenance. The gentleman (Caroline nearly 
shrieked when he joined them) was Wilhelm 
— Wilhelm Waldheim ! only differently dressed 
from what she was wont to see. He wore 
the costume of a Swiss huntsman. A green, 
pointed felt hat, ornamented with feathers of 
many colors and the beard of a chamois ; a 
short, velvet coat ; leather trowsers, buckled 
at his knees ; half - boots, with thick soles 
studded with nails, constituted his attire. In 
one hand his stutzer, (a short gun,) in the other 
the Alpenstock, (Alp-stick.) Caroline sat like 
one crazed — immovable — scarcely breathing ; 
with a sharp pain gnawing at her heart, nearly 
amounting to torture. Her eyes were riveted 
wildly upon the face before her, so like her 
Wilhelm that there was left hardly any doubt 
that it was indeed himself. When, at last, he 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 3 33 

put his arm lovingly around the lady^ she could 
have cried aloud, but her voice refused to utter 
a sound; and when he said, “Good-by, my 
dearest wife — at six I shall be with you again ; 
kiss me, Carl, and be good until I return ” — 
she pressed her hand to her heart, and tears 
trickled silently down her cheek. He went 
quickly up the gravel-path, and his wife called 
after him : “ Come back safe, Wilhelm, and 
soon.” He waved his hand, throwing a kiss 
to them before disappearing behind the house. 

She called him “ Wilhelm,” too. “ Then 
there is no hope left ! false ! false ! ” Caroline 
whispered to herself, distractedly, pushing her 
golden hair from her forehead. “And I thought 
him so true ; so honorable ! Now we are sep- 
arated indeed. This, then, was the secret he 
was so loath to impart to me ! False ! doubly 
false ! for deceiving me and his wife. Well, 
well, I hope it will make it easier for me to 
tear him from my heart. Now no more trav- 
elling, but home to Seefeld again.” She slowly 
got up to return to the hotel. 



12 



CHAPTER XV. 


THE LAST HOPE GONE. 



AROLINE reached the hotel scarcely 
knowing how. One thought, one 
desire w^as uppermost in her mind 
— to return to Seefeld as quickly as 
possible ; and she hurried her steps, as if try- 
ing to escape from something she was afraid 
to encounter again. Her parents looked at 
her in fear and consternation when she entered 
the room, with a face pale as death, asking 
hastily, “ Is every thing prepared ? We must 
leave for home at once.” Then looking around 
her, anxiously, as if seeking for something, she 
dropped into the nearest seat, letting her arms 
fall, as if in great weariness. 

“ My child, what has happened ? ” cried her 
mother, coming hastily toward her, and throw- 
ing her arms around her. “ Why do you look 
so strangely, and whence your sudden wish to 

134 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. I35 

return home? We thought you so happy 
here.” 

“Happy?” and a bitter smile parted her 
lips ; then, shaking her head mournfully, “ Oh, 
no ! no happiness for me, any more. I am 
tired, mamma. What time is it? When do 
we leave ? ” 

“ It is two o’clock, and we can leave in a few 
hours, if you wish it. We can hire a carriage. 
Will you not take some refreshment, and try 
to restore your strength by a few hours’ sleep ? 
You have walked too far, and over- fatigued 
yourself, my child.” 

“Yes, yes,” Caroline said, submissively, as if 
too weak to think or to respond. 

Her mother conducted her to her sleeping 
apartment, where she soon fell into a restless 
slumber — tossing her head upon the pillows, 
muttering broken sentences, (which the watch- 
ful ear of her parent could not make out,) or 
moaning piteously. 

The journey home was made in the shortest 
time possible, never remaining longer at a 
station than was actually necessary. Caroline 
urged her parents to reach Seefeld in this — 
to them — unaccountable hurry. 

Hardly had they reached their dwelling- 
place, v/hen her strength gave way, and she 


136 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

fell sick. A physician was called in, who 
looked long and gravely at the unconscious 
girl, and pronounced her illness brain-fever — 
brought on by long pent-up excitement of the 
mind, and probably induced by a violent and re- 
cent shock. For weeks the danger was great, 
and the physician could give no hope — ex- 
cept that her youth might, perhaps, carry her 
through. At last his face looked less grave, 
and more hopeful ; and in a few weeks he 
pronounced her out of danger. 

Autumn had come now, and Caroline went 
out for the first time ; but how changed she 
was ! The child-like manners were gone, the 
sunshine had left her eyes, her smiles were 
rare and mournful ; and from a light-hearted, 
impulsive girl, she had changed into a quiet, 
composed, sad woman. She was .still very 
beautiful ; but, like a marble statue, pale, cold, 
impassive. Those who once had loved her for 
h^r sweet, child-like loveliness, now admired 
her for her stately grace, her womanly dignity ; 
and many said that she had changed for the 
better. “The foolish, thoughtless girl, ever 
ready to play wild pranks, had, at last, become 
a sensible, well-behaved woman of the world ; 
and her travels had decidedly done her good,” 
they said. None asked after the condition of 


AUREOLA; OR, THE EL A CA^ SHEER. I37 

her heart — whether that too had improved by 
the change ; and none thought of inquiring 
what had wrought this change. Contented 
with her exterior, what did they care to know 
how it was within ? whether Spring had de- 
parted there, and cold, bleak Winter had taken 
its place ? Those nearest and dearest to her 
felt the change acutely ; and wished, with all 
their heart, that their darling would again be- 
come the wild, impulsive, troublesome girl who, 
a year ago, had made their life one of excite- 
ment — sometimes almost of fear, it was true; 
but, nevertheless, they would like to have it so 
again, if only their child would be her former 
joyous self once more. She never spoke of 
her travels in Switzerland ; and when her 
mother once alluded to it, she shivered, and, 
raising her hands, imploringly said : “ Please, 
mamma, never mention it any more. It pains 
me.” She would not explain why: and her 
parents, at last, concluded that she must have 
heard something painful about Wilhelm Wald- 
heim, and from thenceforth never spoke of 
their journey-. 

To Caroline, every thing seemed to be indif- 
ferent. Nothing excited her interest or admi- 
ration. Conscious of a dull pain at her heart, 
she had feeling for nothing else. Seeing her 


138 AUREOLA; OR, THE ELACRT SHEER. 

friends, and mixing in society as usual, she 
took and looked at every thing with careless 
indifference. Unimpressed, she moved like an 
automaton, unconscious of what was passing 
before her. • The admiration of gentlemen she 
appeared not to notice ; and the love of her 
friends seemed not to move her. Would she 
ever marry ? “Yes,” she answered her mother, 
who spoke on this subject with her one day ; 
“but not yet; and, as long as the man whom 
she should marry was a gentleman, and did 
not expect too much from her, she cared not 
who he was — so that she pleased her parents.” 
And when her mother remonstrated that these 
were not the proper feelings a girl should en- 
tertain, she tapped impatiently with her foot 
upon the floor, saying, almost haughtily, that 
“ this was all one could expect from her ; and, 
if she had to feel differently, she would not 
marry at all — if they would prefer that. Any 
one her father and mother proposed, or none 
at all — just as they pleased. It was all the 
same to her.” 

Her mother was greatly troubled at her 
obstinacy, as she called it ; but hoped that 
time would heal all ; and that, perhaps, these 
strange ideas were only consequences of her 
last illness. 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. I39 

One day, when Caroline had gone out for a 
walk, she encountered Jacob. A wild impulse 
prompted her to stop him, and ask him “whe- 
ther he had heard from his master lately, and 
where he was ? ” 

Yes, Jacob had heard — only a few days 
ago. He was quite well ; and the letter was 
posted at Glarus, and had been written at a 
place called ‘ Stachelberg ’ — a watering-place, 
he thought. He wondered why Miss Gut- 
mann said so quickly, “ Good-by, Jacob,” and 
left him with such a very strange expression 
upon her countenance. “ Very strange ! ” he 
mused, looking thoughtfully after her, “She 
looks very ill ; and is awfully changed — for 
the worse, I think.” 

“No doubt any longer,” she said to herself, 
while walking quickly home. “ Foolish heart,” 
with a bitter smile, “ to have hoped still ! Yes, 
yes, Stachelberg — there, at the river Linth, is 
his home. Yet, I love him still, will always 
love him, while he — he has forgotten his 
‘ Aureola,’ long ago.” Hot tears coursed down 
her cheeks, and, letting down her thick veil 
hastily, to hide them from the eyes of Mr. 
Herder — who, just then, saluted her with a 
deferential bow — she entered the house, and 
hurried to her room. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

RETURNED. 

HE winter entertainments of the club 
had commenced, and Caroline, more 
than ever surrounded by admirers, 
reigned as queen. It seemed that 
the scarcity with which her favors were be> 
stowed had raised their value ; and that her 
smiles were esteemed doubly, since to gain 
them was such a rarity. To win one friendly 
look from those tranquil eyes of hers, was ci 
boast not many could make; and therefore the 
stronger sex seemed to liave become mad in 
their endeavors to obtain what they counted 
as such a great triumph. Caroline, however, 
seemed to give preference to none. Ever 
calm, impassive, and self-possessed, she con- 
ducted herself as one whose heart and feelings 



140 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. I4I 

had been put under lock and key ; and neither 
by look nor word did she show that she was 
aware of the sensation she created. 

One gentleman only she appeared to be 
more pleased to have near her than any other. 
If receiving a gracious “ thank you,” for being 
allowed to hold her bouquet, or handing her a 
chair, can be called a favor, then Mr. Herder 
could congratulate himself on being the pre- 
ferred one among the crowd of her adorers. 
He certainly counted it an exception to be 
thankful for, to be permitted always to be with 
her whenever she appeared in public ; and 
was grateful to receive even that much, where 
others were either entirely overlooked or 
haughtily repulsed. His constancy seemed to 
thaw the ice-crust that, as it were, enclosed 
Caroline’s heart ; and, now and then, a sweet 
smile made him happy, and chained him firmer 
to his goddess. Never did man serve more 
devotedly than Carl Herder served Caroline 
Gutmann ; and never did any man receive less 
for his attentions and yet be more satisfied, ay, 
even contented with that little — ever watch- 
ful of her slightest wish ; ever ready to obey 
her most exacting orders ; never tiring, never 
wearying; and ever grateful for the smallest 
thanks. 


142 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

One evening, at a soiree, when Caroline had 
been more affable, and had smiled oftener on 
Mr. Herder than usual, he took courage to tell 
her of his love, to open his heart and show her 
the intensity of his feelings, kept so faithfully 
through all these years ; and then asked her 
whether ^he would not give him his reward, 
and promise to become his wife ? 

It was a sad look with which she listened to 
his revelation, and a mournful voice with which 
she asked him whether her parents were aware 
of his intentions ? 

“ They are,” he answered, anxiously watch- 
ing her countenance. 

“ And what do they say ? ” 

“ That they would be glad to call me their 
son.” 

Her lips quivered, as if in sorrow; and she 
suppressed a sigh before she said : “ Can you 
take me, as I am — cold, fanciful, and capri- 
cious ? Do you believe that, with all my faults, 
I could make you happy?” 

“ If you only will be mine I shall be happy. 
Oh ! say ‘ Yes ; ’ say that you will be my wife ! 
If you are cold now, my love will kindle your 
feelings ; if you are capricious^ still I shall serve 
you faithfully with my whole heart.” 

“ You wish it then, and are content to bear 
the consequences ? ” 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP, I43 

“ It is my dearest wish, and I shall regard 
myself as the happiest of men.” 

“ So be it, then. I promise to become your 
wife. You must not speak of love — ” she cried, 
almost fiercely, when he would have spoken 
words of fondness, making him draw back as 
if wounded. “ Forgive me ! ” she said, softly, 
laying her hand gently on his arm ; “ I did not 
mean to hurt you — but I fear that I have.” 

“Yes, I know, dearest; I think I understand 
you. You have had so much of these phrases 
and expressions of love, that they tire and dis- 
gust you. I shall be more careful in future. 
I shall show rather by deeds than words how 
much I love you, and thus better convince you 
of the truth of my feelings.” 

“You are partly right — I have heard too 
much of it. But,” and she hesitated — “I shall 
make you a poor wife.” 

“ Let me be the judge of that. If / am sat- 
isfied, who will complain ? ” 

Mr. Herder was now in the zenith of his 
happiness. Allowed now to be with her 
constantly, at her side morning, noon, and 
evening — walking, riding, and making pur- 
chases — he never tired, and saw sunshine 
everywhere. He presented her with every 
thing a loving heart could think of; and her 


144 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

room resembled a complete flower-garden, so 
profusely did he attend to this — her favorite 
fancy. If she had not been spoiled long ago, 
he would have surely succeeded in finishing 
what others had left undone. Words of love 
and fondness, though ever on his tongue and 
ready to escape his only too willing lips, he 
suppressed, fearing her displeasure ; and only 
by his eloquent looks could she judge of the 
depth of the affection burning within his breast. 
For this careful avoidance of expressing his 
feelings in words, she was most thankful ; for, 
had he spoken of them, she could not have 
borne it. She had heard such words from 
Wilhelm Waldheim’s lips — and what had they 
meant but deceit? She would, listen to no 
other man’s profession of love. 

Thus time went smoothly on, bringing no- 
thing particularly new in its course, yet to some 
carrying joy and hopes of seeing their dearest 
wishes fulfilled. Mr. Herder was near the end 
of his desires. Four weeks more, and Caroline 
would be his wife. 

Jacob was startled, one evening, by the sud- 
den and most unexpected arrival of his young 
master. Without warning or notice, he had 
broken upon his quiet home, and surprised his 
old servant almost into consternation; for there 


AUREOLA; OR, THE B L A C K S H E E P. 14$ 

were matters of which he had not informed 
him in his letters, which now, of course, would 
be disclosed to him. He was just consulting 
with himself how he could best prepare him, 
and had begun already with “ There is a ball 
this evening at the club, Herr Wilhelm” — 
when Mr. Waldheim quickly ordered him to 
unpack his baggage immediately, as he meant 
to go there ; and then retired to his room, 
without taking further notice of Jacob’s efforts 
to retain him a few moments longer. 

Caroline was crossing the hall in the club- 
house. She had left the ball-room to fetch a 
light scarf her mother had forgotten. Every 
one was in the midst of enjoyment, and en- 
gaged in dancing — therefore the hall was 
deserted ; and, except some waiters flitting 
hither and thither, no one was to be seen. 
She had almost reached the dressing-room, 
when a gentleman opened one of the many 
side-doors leading from the" different apart- 
ments into which the elderly gentlemen gen- 
erally retreat after having left their fair charges 
in the ball-room. 

“ Aureola ! ” she heard a voice exclaim, and 
the next minute Wilhelm Waldheim held out 
his hand to her, in rapturous welcome. 

At the sound of his voice she trembled with 

K 


13 


146 AUREOLA; OR, THE B L A C K S H E E P. 

a feeling of intense joy ; but directly she re- 
membered all — and stepping back, drew her- 
self up haughtily, saying, coldly: “Sir!” Her 
nostrils dilated, her eyes flashed the indigna- 
tion she could not express in words ; and her 
lips curled with contempt while measuring him 
from head to foot. 

Wilhelm Waldheim looked into her face 
with amazement. “ I beg your pardon — Miss 
Gutmann,” he said, bowing lowly in mock hu- 
mility. 

She would have passed, but he held her 
back ; and, seeing her recoil from his touch, 
he asked, with ill-concealed pain, “For what 
have I deserved such treatment ? ” 

She regarded him silently, so indignant at 
his impertinence as scarcely to be able to an- 
swer immediately; but, after a moment’s pause, 
she burst forth: “This is heaping insult upon 
injury I ” Then, with cutting irony, “ How are 
your wife and child, Mr. Waldheim ? have you 
left them at Stachelberg ? ” 

“ My wife and child ? ” he repeated, in a 
bewildered manner ; “ what — what do you 
mean ?” 

“ Ah ! ” she said, laughing bitterly ; “ you 
are an excellent actor, but still I have found 
you out.” 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEER. I47 

“ I do not understand you.” 

“ Do you not ? Ah, yes, I dare say it is not 
very convenient.” 

“ So help me — ” 

“ Stop! Wilhelm Waldheim,” she interrupted 
him, solemnly; “do not add an oath to your 
previous sins. You have lied enough,” she 
added, sadly, “but — I forgive you. I had un- 
limited faith in you, and you deceived me. My 
mind was young and fresh, and would have 
remained so all my life if you had not come 
between me and happiness ; and, by your 
wickedness and baseness, made me old in 
heart, and blasted my whole future. But — I 
forgive you ; yes, I will try to forgive you.” 
She spoke the last words more to herself, 
pressing her hand to her heart, as if to still the 
pain the touching of the still bleeding wound 
had given her. 

“ These are heavy charges you bring against 
me. Aureola,” he said, sorrowfully. “ I might 
have sworn that oath without its being a false 
one. I say again, I understand you not.” 

She only shook her head, in misbelief. 

“ Here you are, Caroline,” said Mr. Herder, 
stepping up to them ; “ and — ah 1 with an old 
friend. How do you do, Waldheim? Back 
again? Well, you are just in time for our 


148 AUREOLA: OR, THE BEACH SHEER. 

wedding. Not so, Caroline — he must be 
present ? ” 

^^Yoicr — wedding?” exclaimed Waldheim, 
turning as pale as death, and taking hold of a 
pillar — “ when ? ” 

“ In four weeks. This takes you by surprise, 
but is nevertheless true. Come now, dearest, 
you will take cold. We shall see you in the 
course of the evening again, Waldheim? ” 

Caroline bowed coldly, and was led back to 
the ball-room. 

Wilhelm Waldheim stood long, staring wild- 
ly at the* door that had closed behind them; 
then he sighed deeply, buttoned his coat to his 
throat with trembling hand, as if he felt very 
cold, and left the building hastily. 

“ Jacob ! ” 

“Sir?” said- the faithful servant, who had 
anxiously awaited his master’s return, and seen 
by his features that he had heard the fatal 
news. 

“ Shut the door.” Then, after his wish had 
been complied with, “ Why did you not inform 
me of Miss Gutmann’s engagement ? ” 

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Waldheim; but I 
knew the pain it would inflict on you, and — ” 

“ Do you think it pains me less to have it so 
rudely told to me as it was done this evening? 


AUREOLA; 0 R, THE B L A C K S HE E F. I49 

Sit down,” he said, in an abrupt manner, as if 
it pained him to speak of it ; “ and tell me all 
about it — how it came about, and how lonpf 
she is engaged.” 

“Well, sir, when she came back from her 
travels — mind, sir, I have all this only from 
Katharine, who heard it at the fountain ; so all 
of it may not be correct.” 

“ Proceed, proceed,” Mr. Waldheim said, 
impatiently. 

“All in a hurry like,” Jacob continued, “for 
they had intended to remain away a year; but 
at Glarus, or Stachelberg — I do not know 
which — ” 

“Stachelberg? Has she been at the baths 
of Stachelberg ? ” his master interrupted, with 
great interest. 

“Yes; and there she must have seen or 
heard something that made her nearly mad, 
for she urged her parents back to Seefeld, 
never explaining to any one what was her 
reason for doing so. Directly after her return 
she fell sick — dangerously ill. It was brain- 
fever, the physician said. After she recovered 
she was quite an altered person — haughty and 
proud, ‘ One hardly knew, in her, the old 
Miss Gutmann,’ so Lena said. Then Mr. Her- 
der paid her attentions ; and, if all is true that 


150 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

they say, this gentleman had proposed to her 
before her travels, and was refused — flatly re- 
fused! Yes, you see, sir, this was before that 
‘ something ’ she heard or saw in Switzerland. 
But, after that blow had fallen — for a blow it 
must have been, to change her so totally as it 
has done — and Mr. Herder went mad after 
her again — as all the gentlemen did, for that 
matter — more than ever, she quietly accepted 
him : ‘ to please her parents,’ she said. But 
she does not love him a bit, for all that, I be- 
lieve ; for you see, Mr. Waldheim” — and to 
impress his master the more with his convic- 
tion, he moved closer up to him, laying his fin- 
ger persuasively upon his arm — “if she did 
care for him, he. could have brought back the 
sunshine to her eyes, and made that now stern 
mouth have merry dimples again, as in olden 
times ; he would have succeeded in making her 
voice joyous and her laugh silvery again. But 
she loves him not! and therefore he cannot 
touch the spring that sets her heart in motion, 
nor create an echo in her breast that answers 
to his call of love. She remains cold and un- 
impressive as a stone, and therefore I know 
that my idea is a correct one. So there, Mr. 
Waldheim, is a chance once more for you, 
if you only have the sense to take it ; and, if 


AUREOLA: OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 15I 

you care for your and her — ay, her happiness 
— you will take it, and follow the advice of 
your faithful old servant; and have done with 
pride — for what else could it be than that? 
Go to her ; clear up this secret that separates 
you, and let her judge, too, whether your loves 
and lives should be sacrificed. Yes, I say that 
she has a right to be consulted. It is you who 
have made her unhappy, without giving her 
any reason for doing so. I will speak out my 
mind now, and not keep back any longer, Mr. 
Wilhelm, even if it costs me my place,” he 
said, as he saw Mr. Wilhelm look up in dis- 
pleasure ; “and your anger shall not stop me 
any more. It is a sin and a shame to see 
you two loving each other truly, and you still 
persevering in making both miserable. There 
now,” he concluded, “ this is all I have to say. 
I hope, Mr. Wilhelm, you will take it kindly, as 
it is meant, with the heartfelt wish and hope 
that my plain speech — for which I beg your 
pardon — may bri*ng you the good fortune I so 
much wish you both.” With these finishing 
words, Jacob meekly withdrew from the room. 

Mr. Waldheim sat in thoughtful silence a 
long time. He was not angry with the liberty 
Jacob had taken in lecturing him. How could 
he, when all was meant so well and honestly? 


152 AUREOLA: OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

He wondered whether Jacob was right, when 
he asserted that Caroline still loved him ; and 
that perhaps even yet all might be made 
bright and happy again ? But how was it to 
be done? She was engaged to Mr. Herder: 
would she — even if he should succeed in 
convincing her that she had wronged him — 
break this engagement ? And how could he 
convince her ? How ? and yet perspiration 
broke out in large drops upon his forehead, 
when he thought at what cost he. only could 
do so. He groaned aloud. But suddenly he 
rose to his feet, exclaiming, “ It shall be done ! 
no matter how much it may cost me ; and even 
if I should not win her by doing so. It is her 
right, and — she shall have it!” he added, 
wiping the drops from his face. 




CHAPTER XVII. 

ACTED UPON. • 

F once Mr. Waldheim had resolved 
on any thing, the deed always was 
sure to follow immediately. There- 
fore the next morning saw him, with 
a resolute hand, insert the key to that partic- 
ular apartment which he had once, in his 
thoughts, set apart to be exclusively his future 
wife’s sanctum. His features were firm, and 
his hand shook not when he took his father’s 
picture from the wall ; and, although his look 
was sad and his breast full of doubts as to the 
success of his enterprise, he did not hesitate to 
remove the boards from the back and take 
from its hiding-place the tin box, which, ever 
since he had first mastered its contents, had 
brought upon him such misery. He then rang 
for Jacob, and told him to have his father’s 
likeness sent to the person who had newly 

*53 



154 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLA CRT SHEER, 

framed his mother’s and his own, and have 
it done in the same style. Jacob looked wist- 
fully at him and upon the broken picture, 
but refrained from asking any question. Mr. 
Waldheim — who remarked, and at first in- 
tended to take no notice of it — turned sud- 
denly, as if by impulse, before leaving the 
room, saying : “ I shall take your advice, 
Jacob.” 

“Thank yoff, Mr. Wilhelm,” said the old 
man, as if some very particular favor had been 
granted him. 

Caroline was sitting alone at home ; her 
parents were out, and Mr. Herder had left 
town, to remain away a few days to look after 
some very important business matters. Ever 
since that meeting at the club - house, Caro- 
line’s equanimity had been seriously disturbed. 
Wilhelm Waldheim was constantly before her 
mind, and the sorrowful look he had cast upon 
her when she denounced him did not leave her 
memory a minute. Doubts as to the truth of 
his guilt harassed her heart ; and love — still 
painfully alive — would plead for him, even if 
he were the base wretch she believed him to 
be. A knock at the door startled her ; and, to 
her “Come in,” the door opened — and the 
object of her thoughts stood before her. 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEER. I55 

Doubting whether Miss Gutmann would re- 
ceive him if he should first seek her permis- 
sion, he had boldly ventured to surprise her. 
He therefore entered the open hall -door, 
mounting the stairs quickly, knocked, and — 
stood confronting her. 

The blood retreated from her cheeks ; her 
heart almost ceased to beat ; her work slipped 
from her hand ; and, as if spell-bound, she 
looked at the apparition. 

“ Aureola ! ” and the spell was broken. 

She rose hastily, trembling violently, but 
mustering so much strength as to be able to 
say, in an agitated whisper : “ How dare you, 
sir, intrude thus ? ” 

“ I beg your pardon — Miss Gutmann,” he 
said this time, though the name came reluct- 
antly from his lips ; “ but I come in self-de- 
fence.” 

“ Indeed ! ” was the cold reply ; and a sar- 
castic smile played around her lips, which were 
white with emotion. 

“ You accused me the other evening of such 
vile deeds, that it forces me to disclose what I 
thought no human being, save myself, should 
ever know.” 

“ Proceed,” she said proudly, when he paused. 
“ Since you deign to consider me worthy to be 


156 AUREOLA; Oli, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

your judge, I am willing to listen to your de- 
fence. I tell you beforehand, though, Wilhelm 
Waldheim, that your proofs need to be strong 
— very strong, to convince me to the contrary 
of what my own eyes have seen.” 

“You yourself, Aureola, speak!” he cried, 
excitedly; “what have you seen? and where?” 

'‘'What have I seen?” she repeated, con- 
temptuously; “your wife and child — of course ; 
and yourself — caressing them,” she added, 
sadly and thoughtfully, as if recalling the pic- 
ture that still tortured her heart. 

“ And where — where ? ” he asked, strangely 
moved, coming a step nearer toward her. 

She looked reproachfully at him, and her 
voice trembled with unshed tears, when she 
answered: “You must be sure of my love, in- 
deed, that you have the courage to torture me 
thus — to force me to reproduce the picture 
that nearly drove me mad more than two years 
ago. Why pretend, Wilhelm ” — and her voice 
grew tender and sweet, in the intense agony 
of her soul — “ not to know of your home, the 
pretty little villa, secluded from the world in 
the middle of a charming garden, surrounded 
with green hedges ? Why try to persuade me 
that the two hours’ w^lk from the bath of 
Stachelberg have never been made by you. 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK' SHEEP. 157 

and that the lovely path that leads across the* 
Pantenbriicke, through shady woods and fer- 
tile meadows, is unknown to your foot ? What 
good can all this deception do you? You 
have fallen low enough — why seek to plunge 
still deeper into the mire ? O Wilhelm ! Wil- 
helm, what have I ever done to you to justify 
your bringing such dreadful misery upon me ? ’’ 
and, in the recollection of her wrongs, she for- 
got to conceal the aching of her still suffering 
heart ; and, with joy, he then knew that Jacob 
was right, and that he still held the key that 
opened the door to a heart truly his own. 

“ Thank heaven ! ” he said, as if to himself. 
“At last I shall be able to search with success.” 
Then taking Caroline’s hand, and keeping it 
firmly in his own, despite her resistance, he 
continued: “Aureola, you do not, as yet, know 
the full importance and meaning of what you 
have revealed to me ; but I thank you for it 
now. You also are still unaware how much 
you wrong me, but you will soon know, and be 
sorry for it. Read this,” and he handed her a 
packet, “ and, when you have done so, inform 
me of it; and, if you wish it,” and he looked 
beseechingly at her, as if asking a great favor 
— “ if you wish it, mind,” he repeated, with ex- 
pression, “ I shall come again. You will know, 
14 


158 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLA CRT SHEER. 

‘when the contents of these papers are clear to 
you, what I mean. You will then understand 
my previous conduct; all will then be explained 
to you, and you shall then be the judge whe- 
ther — I am to come again.” He paused. 
Then, after an expressive silence, “Will you 
promise to read this faithfully. Aureola ? — for 
our loves’ sake? ” he added, in a voice so low 
as to be audible scarcely to her. 

“ I will,” she replied, in a tone as low as his 
own. 

When, after a long, ardent gaze, he let go 
her hand, which now lay passive in his, he no- 
ticed that her face was winning and sweet as 
of yore ; that her eyes had lost their hauteur, 
and that their expression was soft and child- 
like as when he knew her first, and a^ain he 
recalled Jacob’s assertion that “if Caroline 
loved Mr. Herder, he could long ago have 
succeeded in changing the cold, impassive 
beauty into the bright fairy that she had been, 
before the blow had fallen upon her.” 

“ When will you read it ? ” 

“ At once.” 

“ Thank you ! ” And when Caroline re- 
covered from the stupefaction into which this 
interview had thrown her, she was alone. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

A father’s confession. 

HE contents of these papers, my dear 
son, will acquaint you with the events 
of some years of my life — years of 
extreme happiness, as well as great 
misery, to me. They will reveal to you a 
secret which I have faithfully kept for many 
years, and which I was in doubt whether I 
should impart to you at all ; but, as it concerns 
you so nearly, I think it the wiser plan to over- 
come my repugnance, provide for all cases, 
and herewith write down what pains me, even 
after the lapse of many years. This also will 
explain to you my reason for making a will, 
apparently for no purpose whatever. 

When I had reached the age of twenty-three 
I expressed a desire to travel. My father — 
a very indulgent parent in many respects — 
readily complied with my wish ; and, after due 

159 



l6o AUREOLA; O R, T H E B L A C K S H E E P. 

preparations — for my mother would not allow 
her only child to depart without having made 
(as she called it) a proper outfit for him — I 
left Seefeld. I had been away from home per- 
haps a year, when my wanderings brought me 
to Switzerland ; a country famous for its wild 
scenery, destroying avalanches, lovely valleys, 
honest men, and beautiful women. It was in 
July, and I concluded to visit Gais, the neat little 
village known for its “cure of goats’- whey,” 
(Molken-kur,) and its fresh and bracing air ; 
which, especially in July and August, attract 
many strangers and invalids from all parts 
of the world. The trimly painted timber cot- 
tages of the peasants, converted into lodging- 
houses by their owners, and scattered irreg- 
ularly over lawn-like meadows, pleased my 
eye and won my admiration, and I resolved to 
stay at Gais until I should be tired of the place. 
I then began to lay out a regular plan how 
best to employ my time. Excursions should, 
of course, be one of its chief features. 

I had heard that the Appenzeller were great 
shots, particularly devoting a part of Sunday to 
enjoy this exercise ; and therefore I intended 
to go there on the first holiday. 

Shots resounded on all sides as I neared the 
place, telling me that the rifle-matches had be- 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEE P. l6l 

gun. Young and old, men and women, were 
standing or sitting around, eagerly watching 
the good or bad luck of the Schiitzen, (“ shoot- 
ers,”) who stood, rifles in hand, laughing, talk- 
ing, aiming, or reloading. 

After having taken in the whole of the in- 
teresting scene, I seated myself by the side of 
a venerable, white-haired old man, who, rest- 
ing his chin on the head of his cane, watched 
the game attentively. I became aware that, 
from the other side of the peasant, a pair of 
brilliant eyes were watching me. I looked up, 
and met the gaze of the softest velvety-brown 
orbs I ever had the pleasure of looking into. 
The minute my look was riveted upon them 
they were withdrawn, and long, sweeping lashes 
covered their light. Of course I did not cease 
my examination, but proceeded to discover 
more beauty, and was a hundred - fold re- 
paid. A beautiful blush mantled the lovely 
maiden’s brow after having been interrupt- 
ed in her perusal of my features, and a faint, 
half-suppressed smile still lingered around the 
sweet, child-like mouth ; the finely chiselled 
nostrils still trembled, and the dark lashes 
were slyly raised now and then, as if to be 
assured whether I had withdrawn my observa- 
tion. The taper fingers were twirling the cor- 

14* L 


i 62 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

ner of her apron confusedly, and one of her 
long, thick plaits of dark chestnut hair was 
drawn coquettishly ovbr her shoulder, and held 
by her other dimpled hand. I was charmed, 
nay more — I was enchanted by this lovely 
vision. Those fawn-like eyes, so tender and 
mournful in their expression, stole my heart 
at first sight ; and the entire goodness and in- 
nocence expressed in those child-like features 
made me captive — forever ! 

A long while we sat thus, playing hide-and- 
seek with our eyes, until, at last, the peasant 
said, “I think it is time for us to go home, 
Thekla. Evening is coming on, and the dew 
will soon be falling. Let us go.” 

“ Directly, grandfather. See ! there is Sep- 
pel. Let us wait for him to accompany us.” 

A frown came over the old man’s face, when 
he said, “Your brother will not go home with 
us ; it is too soon for him.” Then, with a bit- 
ter smile, “ Tavern and cards tempt him, offer- 
ing more pleasure than he could find in his 
quiet home.” 

“ Please, grandfather, do not think so ill of 
Seppel. He is wild, I grant you” — a sup- 
pressed sigh heaved her breast — “but — ” 

“Never mind, little advocate,” said the 
peasant, smiling, giving an affectionate tap to 


AUREOLA; OR, THE B LACK SHE E P. 163 

her cheek ; “ let us wait a little while longer. 
You are a stranger here, sir?” he addressed 
me, after a while; “ and perhaps have witnessed 
one of our rifle-matches for the first time? ” 

“ I am, and have taken my abode, for the 
present, at Gais.” 

“A pleasant place to live in, sir, especial- 
ly amusing in July and August. Are many 
guests there ? ” 

“Yes; the houses are all full. I came to 
Appenzell purposely to see your famous 
games.” 

A smile of pride lit up his face when he 
said, “Yes, we Appenzeller are known to 
excel in wrestling and shooting. I myself 
have, in my young days, belonged not to the 
worst ones. My name is Horst,” he continued, 
with the frankness that is so charming in the 
Swiss peasantry, “ I am the teacher .of this 
village ; this is my grandchild, and that young 
fellow, whom you may perceive there leaning 
against that tree, is my grandson, Seppel 
Stark, half-brother to Thekla Walter here.” 

“ A very handsome, fine young man, as well 
as I can see from this distance.” 

“Yes, yes — ‘Handsome is that handsome 
does,’ ” he murmured, half aloud, but audibly 
enough for me to hear. 


164 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

Seppel Stark soon came up to us. He had 
a dark, well- cut face; but its beauty was marred 
by a sulky, discontented look and the long 
side -glances he constantly threw about him. 
He scrutinized me with a very disagreeable 
stare, as his grandfather introduced me, having 
given my name before. Seppel had merely 
come to say that they need not wait for him, 
as he meant to remain longer. 

“ Oh, brother,” said Thekla Walter, with the 
most melodious voice — it was so low and mu- 
sical — “ do go home with us.” 

“I cannot,” he answered, a little less rough- 
ly than he had spoken before. “ I shall come 
home as soon as I can, however.” 

She looked sadly at him, but refrained from 
speaking again. He hastily touched his hat, 
and was gone. 

“If a bowl of milk, a slice of rye bread, 
with fresh butter and cheese, will satisfy you, 
I shall gladly welcome you to our humble 
home, Mr. Waldheim. There is plenty of 
time left for you to return to your lodgings 
before it becomes quite dark.” 

I was only too glad to accept this invitation, 
especially as I believed that the glance the 
brown eyes gave me spoke not of disapproval. 

I need not tell you that I came the next 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEEP. l6$ 

Sunday again, and the next after that, and so 
every Sunday ; and then sometimes during 
tfie week, and, at last, each day saw me in 
Appenzell, an expected visitor at Mr. Horst’s 
lowly dwelling. Neither need I tell you, my 
son, that Thekla, the lovely girl of seventeen, 
was the charm that drew me there, nor that 
the welcome those truthful brown eyes gave 
me made my heart beat with delight — that her 
smiles, when I entered, told me a tale which 
was bliss to my heart, and that each hour I 
spent in her company brought her nearer to 
me and rendered her dearer to my soul. The 
presence of Thekla made me a better, a purer 
man ; for to be with her was to feel, to de good. 
She ennobled me, and drove from my mind 
every thought but my most fervent love for 
her. I had seen and met women, brilliant and 
witty, who laid me, enchanted, at their feet ; 
but none ever chained me with such unsever- 
able ties as this simple, unlearned, modest, shy 
girl of the mountains. 

At last I told her of my love. With beauti- 
ful confidence, that doubted not nor calculated 
how, by coquetry, to draw the net still closer 
around the loving object, she confessed the 
feelings she entertained for me, and, with a 
maidenly blush such as one rarely sees on the 


l66 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

cheek of our city-bred dames of fashion, she 
received my first kiss. 

I now spoke to her grandfather. He, bet- 
ter acquainted with the ways of the world, re- 
monstrated, asking how I thought my father, 
rich and high - born, would receive a daugh- 
ter-in-law out of such a lowly station. “ Of 
respectable family, with beauty that many a 
lady might envy, of goodness rare indeed,” he 
added, proudly; “but still not endowed with 
that sort of worth my parents would naturally 
seek in their son’s wife.” 

I granted all that he said, acknowledging 
my father’s unconquerable family pride ; but 
proposed to put Thekla in an Institute for 
two years, that she might prepare herself for 
the position she would adorn as my wife, and 
that we should marry after the lapse of that 
time, with my parents’ consent, or without it, 
if necessary. Still Mr. Horst resisted, but 
relented after a week’s debate, persuaded by 
our mutual, pleading — or rather, as I always 
thought, and’ still believe, because he hoped 
that a two-years’ separation would cool off our 
love, and that resistance now would only make, 
matters worse. 

The separation was hard to bear ; but the 
future was bright and enticing, and so it was 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BEACH SHEER. 16 / 

acted upon. I found a good Institute in Basel, 
and Thekla’s grandfather brought her there. 
Once in each year, in company with Mr. Horst, 
I was to see her, and then — 

Seppel, all this time, had made himself ex- 
tremely disagreeable to me in every way ; at 
first sulky, then, as I came oftener, rude, defi- 
cient even in common politeness, and, latter- 
ly, showing a hate so undisguised that I shud- 
dered sometimes when I caught his evil look. 
Thekla tried to soothe him in her gentle, win- 
ning way ; but he rudely repulsed her, sneer- 
ingly taunting her with her city lover. 

With many tears Thekla and I had bidden 
each other adieu, and I had then proceeded on 
my travels. 

At each of my visits to Thekla a new charm 
seemed to have been added to her beauty, and 
after the whole time of our separation had 
passed, and Mr. Horst and myself went to 
take her home, I pressed her rapturously to 
my heart, exclaiming, “Who but you, my dar- 
ling, would be so fit to adorn my home, and 
please the most exalted wishes of my parents ?” 
The bud, promising so much, had opened to 
the most beautiful flower, and, entranced even 
more by the great intelligence that shone from 
her eyes and was throned upon her lovely brow. 


l68 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

by the true elegance of her whole appearance, 
by the gentle and winning grace that distin- 
guished her every movement, than by the 
beauty of her features, I kissed her again and 
again. 

One week I remained with her at Appen- 
zell, then, on the wings of hope, I travelled 
back to Seefeld to lay before my parents the 
story of my love and wooing. I had her pic- 
ture next to my heart, and by its means I 
doubted not I should vanquish the scruples of 
my father and mother. I was received with 
open arms and rejoicing. I was now twenty- 
six years old, and they impressed upon me 
that it was fit that I should look about me 
among the beauties of Seefeld, and select a 
mistress for the future home which my parents 
would provide for us without any regard to 
cost. This was told me on the first evening 
after my arrival, and my heart trembled when 
I looked upon my father s resolute face, so un- 
suspicious of what I was anxious to reveal. 
My hand lay on my love’s picture, and I was 
on the point of drawing it forth, and of telling 
them that this was she whom I wished them to 
take to their hearts, and love not only for my 
sake, but also for her own, when my mother 
said, “Carl, it is late; our son must be fa- 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. I69 

tigued. Let us retire. To-morrow evening 
he shall have an opportunity of meeting the 
young ladies of our town, and being intro- 
duced to her whom we should advise him to 
select as his future partner.” 

I need not tell you, my son, that these words 
of my q^other struck terror to my heart, and 
that already I saw the shadow of a fearful 
storm not far off. They had selected, I might 
be assured; and I knew what this meant — at 
least with my father, who, having once made 
up his mind to any thing, was hard to be per- 
suaded from his purpose. 

Handsome indeed was the stately beauty to 
whom I was particularly introduced the next 
evening. How very conscious she was of her 
attractions ! With what pride and hauteur did 
she receive the attentions of her admirers, 
and with what condescension did she bestow 
her favors ! How different from my own dar- 
ling, so meek and gentle, yet so superior in 
every thing to the imperious city dame. More 
than ever I kissed Thekla’s picture, and the 
honest eyes seemed to smile with joy that she 
was preferred to all. As you may imagine, 
after a week’s stay, I left Seefeld again, after 
having had a violent storm with my father, to 
whom I had said that such cold, impassive 
15 


I/O AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

charms could never attract me, and that in 
my future wife I looked for more than icy dig- 
nity and repelling pride. My father angrily 
answered that long ago he had suspected that 
I had entangled myself with some low-born 
female, but I must not expect, if this was 
the case, that a pauper ever should e^ter his 
house. Enraged, I went away, without having 
disclosed to him or to my mother the subject 
so near my heart. 

Arrived again in Appenzell, I told Thekla 
and her grandfather all — insisting that we 
should get married without delay, as I knew 
there was no hope of ‘ my father relenting. 
Mr. Horst gave his consent, reluctantly, and 
we were married. Seppel declared that he 
would not be present at the ceremony, al- 
though Thekla tried to shake his resolution, 
with tears in her eyes ; but her entreaties were 
of no avail. He disappeared; not coming back 
until we were man and wife. 

Now a life of entire happiness would have 
opened before us, if it had not been for the 
constant letters from home, in which my father 
confessed to having been too hasty, asking 
me to come back, and choose whomsoever I 
pleased in Seefeld: provided only that she 
came from a good family, he would give his 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLA CH SHEEP. I7I 

consent. By these missives we saw how use- 
less it would be for us to appeal to my pa- 
rents’ affection, as “ a good family ” was the 
chief condition my father made. I say us, for I 
had no secret before my wife. Knowing that, 
sooner or later, she had to learn all, I thought 
it best io keep her informed of my parents’ 
wishes, feelings, and expectations. In the 
mean time, Mr. Horst died, Seppel was seldom 
at home, and we two were all in all to each 
other. 

After we had been married two years, a boy 
was born to us. Our joy was great, and now, 
Thekla thought, might be the time to acquaint 
my parents with our secret. We discussed 
this idea, and resolved to act upon it as soon . 
as our son should be christened. We named 
him Carl Wilhelm, and usually called him 
Carl ; though my wife often would call him by 
my own name — saying, when I told her that it 
would please my' father to know that we had 
named his grandson afte^* him, “that she would 
only give him my name when alone, as Wil- 
helm was to her the dearest name on earth.” 

One afternoon, we were sitting before our 
cottage. My wife had our baby upon her lap 
— its crowing and smiles delighted us, and we 
were untiring in our mutual admiration of its 


1/2 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

beauty and intelligence, when Seppel came 
down the road. A sinister smile disfigured 
his face, as he witnessed our domestic felicity. 
He stood a little while, looking down upon 
our child ; and then, suddenly breaking out into 
a coarse laugh, that grated on our ears, said, 
entering the house : “ What a pity the little 
fellow is a bastard ! ” 

My wife gave a low cry, pressing the child 
to her bosom ; while I sprang to my feet and 
followed him into the house. “ Say that again, 
villain ! ” I cried. 

“ I will say it again ! ” and he opened his 
mouth to repeat the sentence which had of- 
fended us, but I prevented his doing so by 
seizing him by the throat, nearly strangling 
him. My wife had followed us, and stood in 
the doorway with terror written in her counte- 
nance, and ghastly in its whiteness. 

“ You scoundrel! ” I exclaimed, shaking him 
violently ; “ how dare you speak thus ? ” 

“ How dare I ? ” He sneered, and his fea- 
tures assumed a really devilish aspect. “ Why 
not, when you are not her husband ? ” 

“ Explain ! ” I shrieked, while a fearful thought 
nearly blinded me. “You liar, you shall suffer 
for this insult ! ” 

“ I dare say it would be more pleasing to 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 1/3 

you if my assertion were false — which it is 
not, however,” he added, after a moment's 
hesitation. 

I let go my hold of him. I thought my 
senses would leave me. What could he mean ? 
He was base, but surely he could not speak 
^ thus if it were only invention, and for the mere 
purpose of enraging me. I looked toward my 
wife — she had heard all, and believing what 
her brother had said, though not understand- 
ing it, had swooned away. “ See what you 
have done !” I said, pointing to her death-like 
form. 

He recoiled, and turned pale ; his lips moved 
as if he wanted to speak ; but only for a mo- 
ment lasted his indecision : then his insolence 
came back, and he said, carelessly : “ She will 
soon recover.” 

“ And how will you prove what you have 
said ? ” I asked, while despair filled my heart, 
and my courg.ge began to fail. 

“ Listen, then, and you may believe me or not 
— my story is a true one. I always disliked you ; 
but when you won Thekla’s love, I hated you, 
and I swore to be revenged upon you. I have 
a friend who loved my sister ; I had promised 
her to him, come what might, and he had, 
accordingly, served me in many ways. You 
15* 


174 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

came. You crossed my plans, and took from 
my friend what was promised to him, and 
which he had looked upon as his own. We 
swore revenge ; and we have succeeded ! ” He 
laughed, with a satanic laugh. “You may re- 
member that our minister was absent at the 
time you wished to be married. His assistant 

— whom I knew — induced by me, went to the 
mountains to visit an old sick man, also a 
friend of mine. I promised the young clergy- 
man to find a substitute, so that you should 
not suffer from his absence. The substitute 
was found ; and, as you did not know the real 
minister — for my grandfather, who was half 
blind, had been at the parsonage, arranging 
all — and as both the assistant and my friend 

— the one who loved my sister — are dark, 
and tall in stature, it was not likely that we 
should be found out. The assistant came back 
from the mountains, heard that the marriage 
had taken place, and inquired no further into 
the matter. Now, dare I repeat, what I have 
said before, that your child is a — ” But a blow 
from my hand felled him to the ground. A 
terrible shriek from my wife — who had recov- 
ered, and who now understood all — had made 
me half insane, and provoked me to give the 
villain a blow ; which might have been fatal, 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BEACH SHEEP. I75 

had he not held up his hand to avert it, so that 
it only stunned him for a while. I dragged 
him to the door, locked it upon him, and then 
turned to attend to Thekla ; who, with the 
child in her arms, sat motionless with despair. 
I tried to console her with words I did not my- 
self believe ; but she only shook her head, and, 
at last, said, with a voice unnaturally calm and 
quiet, “ Leave me now, Wilhelm ; I must be 
alone with my thoughts.” 

Seeing that words could do her no good, 
and that she really wanted to be left to her- 
self, I took the now sleeping infant, . disposed 
it upon its little bed, and left the room. Sep- 
pel was nowhere to be seen, and I sat upon 
the veranda with a heavy heart. I doubted 
not that Thekla’s brother had told me the 
truth. What next to do ? It was an impossi- 
bility to present Thekla to my parents under 
these circumstances ; for although we might 
have kept it a secret from them, might not 
Seppel go still farther, pursue us even to our 
home in Seefeld, and there expose all ? No 
doubt of it ; he was wretch enough not to be 
satisfied with the wrong already done, but 
would strive to poison our future still more. 
Nothing was left to us but to live here in se- 
clusion. I must deny my wife before the world ; 


176 AUREOLA; OR, T H E B L A C K S H E E P. 

that meant before the world at home, where- I 
was born, get married again here to satisfy 
her conscience, and live henceforth for our 
child alone and for ourselves. 

For hours I had sat thinking, when a gentle 
touch awoke me from my reverie. 

“ Wilhelm,” said the sad voice of Thekla, 
“ I have taken counsel with myself, and come 
to a conclusion.” 

“ So have I, dearest. Sit here and impart 
to me first the result of your thinking, and 
I shall then tell you mine.” 

“We -must leave each other, dearest,” she 
said, with a voice full of suppressed agony. 

“ What ! ” I cried, taking quick hold of her 
hand, as if fearing she would go at once. 
“Why? This terrible news has disturbed 
your mind so violently as to unfit you for 
judging. Think no more of it at present, 
darling, and when you are calmer your judg- 
ment will be clearer. We can quietly get 
married again, and live happily in seclusion, 
with our child and for ourselves. Surely we 
do not need the world to make us contented ! 
Of course we cannot go to my parents now ; 
for your brother would not stop here in his 
revenge, but would go still farther, and follow 
us to Seefeld ; but we can remain here.” 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. I// 

“/ can remain here, Wilhelm, hwtyou must 
go. I have thought it all over, and you must 
listen to me. As you have said, to go now to 
your parents is impossible ; but that we should 
henceforth live together is just as much out 
of the question. We might get married over 
again, true ; but the stain would remain. Do 
you think I love you so slightly as, by my self- 
ishness, to sacrifice your whole future ? I am 
nobody — have no one to consider but myself. 
I have no relations. You have your station, 
your parents, and your friends, whom you can- 
not set aside. If before this blow had fallen 
upon us, you had introduced me into your 
family, I should have had nothing to make me 
blush ; for, although poor, there was no blem- 
ish upon my name. This is altered — not by 
our fault, it is true ; but this does not change 
the matter. I cannot be your wife, and it is I 
who must make the sacrifice. Say no more, love. 
I am resolved. You are my husband ; as such 
I shall think of you, though the world would 
not acknowledge you as such : but you must 
try to forget me, and cease to think of me as 
your wife. Later, when years have blunted 
the pain, you must marry.” And pressing her 
hand upon her eyes, she could no longer resist 
the grief her heart was tortured with, and she 


178 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

broke into a flood of tears, saying, “ Oh, Wil- 
helm, would to heaven that I loved you less 
deeply ! ” 

Day after day went by. I would not listen 
to her entreaties to leave her. “You have 
spoken of a friend whom you have in St. 
Gallen,” (St. Gall,) she said, one day. “ He is 
a banker. Send to him a remittance for me 
every month. Do not doubt that I will accept 
it, if it were only for our boy’s sake. It is not 
so far from Appenzell, and, if you would ask 
him, he might even send it regularly to me 
there. You must never come back to see me; 
for one separation is all we can bear. Should 
anything particular happen, I shall let you 
know. You must look upon me as one dead. 
After all, I shall have the best of it, darling,” 
she continued, while tears rained down her 
cheeks ; “ for I may think of you, love you, 
and indulge in recalling our happy past, while 
you must try all to forget me ; for you will, and 
must marry, sooner or later.” 

With such words she tried to persuade me, 
and make me reconciled with my future, while, 
after each such speech, I assured her that I 
would never leave her. “We cannot make 
wrong right,” she would then answer; “and 
wrong it is already that we have not parted 
days ago.” 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. I79 

One morning, having slept unusually long, 
I dressed myself hastily and went down stairs. 
The table was set out neatly, and breakfast 
was ready for me. I looked about and went 
into the garden to see where Thekla and the 
child were. I could not find them. I called 
her ; she answered not. Going back into the 
house, I noticed a letter upon my plate. A 
terrible thought took possession of me, but I 
tried not to believe it. Hastily I tore open 
the note, and read the following words : 

Dearest love, we must part. I wished that 
you had left rhe, so that I could have stayed 
in my home ; but since you have so faithfully 
clung to me — although you must have told 
yourself that it was wrong — you have forced 
me to leave you, and perhaps it is better so. 
Grieve not, dearest; I shall not be very lonely. 
You will always be present in my mind. Our 
child will grow up like you. You will always 
love me, because you must always esteem 
and respect me. Had I remained with you, it 
might have become otherwise. Now the pain 
is great, almost unbearable ; but there is no 
help for it, and we must bear it. Be not trou- 
bled. You will find that I have taken suffi- 
cient money with me to keep me from want. 


l80 AUREOLA; OR, THE BL A CRT SHEER. 

I did it not only for the child’s sake, but also 
because I knew it would give you some com- 
fort in our sad affliction. I shall also go to 
St. Gallen for the money you may deposit 
there for our wants. Do not be too liberal, 
for I mean to live in a very secluded manner. 
Later, when our boy needs an education, you 
may increase the sum, if we are both alive. 
I shall teach him to think of his father as one 
of the best and most noble of men. And now 
— farewell — farewell forever, my love, my joy, 
my all ! forever farewell ! ” 

There are situations in life in which words 
are wanting and insufficient to express the 
fearful agony our souls undergo. Such was 
mine. I knew that she was gone, that her 
sense of right had conquered her love, and 
that, strong in her affection, she had nobly sac- 
rificed herself. 

As in a dream, I packed my things and left 
the house, which was home no longer since 
she had gone from it. First to St. Gallen to 
place a sum in my friend’s hand, giving him 
the necessary orders, and then again on my 
wanderings — whither, I did not care or know. 

Two years more of restless roaming from 
place to place, and then I bent my steps home* 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLA CRT SHE E R. l8l 


ward — only thirty years, but an old man at 
heart. My parents had grown gray, and my 
father especially seemed feeble. By sundry 
remarks they made, I saw that their chief wish 
was to see me married ; but, made cautious 
by our first quarrel, my father refrained from 
openly suggesting it. Thus I was left to my 
own pursuits until I was almost thirty -six. 
Then my parents freely expressed their desire 
to see me choose a companion for life, so that 
before their death they might see me settled 
in my native place. 

At that time, my son, I became acquainted 
with your mother. I believe the resemblance 
I fancied I saw in her to my beloved Thekla, 
first attracted my notice. She certainly had 
the same brown eyes, with the soft light shining 
in them. Her manners also were gentle and 
modest, yet combined with the womanly dig- 
nity I had loved so much in my , own sweet 
darling of the mountains. We often met; and 
at last, spurred by the constant urging of my 
parents, I proposed, and became her accepted 
lover. The more intimately I knew her the 
more she won upon me, and I told myself that 
if any one could soothe the wound which never 
quite could heal — although, by nature’s course, 
our feelings must lose their keen edge — it 

i6 


i 82 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

was she, with her sweet, unselfish womanliness. 
We were married, nearly a year after we first 
met. I should have much preferred a quiet, 
private wedding ; but my parents showed so 
much surprise when I, one day, hinted my 
wish, that, not to awake suspicion, I let them 
arrange every thing after their own inclination. 
It was, as you may suppose, a grand affair; for 
it was fit that the only son of wealthy parents 
should enter into Hymen’s portal with great 
splendor and preparations. Nobody suspected 
how little I felt like a bridegroom — and whose 
picture never left my mind on that day ; but 
every one wondered that my face had such a 
sober expression, and that I did not join oftener 
in the dance. 

Time flew by. We grew old together, your 
mother and myself. She was a loving, faithful 
wife, who, had it not been for the bitter past 
and the torturing thought of Thekla, would 
have made me perfectly happy. Frequently, 
I inquired from my friend in St. Gallen whe- 
ther the remittances were called for. I was 
answered in the affirmative ; and this, in some 
measure, eased the burden upon my mind. 
After my marriage I doubled the amount, 
knowing that Thekla’s expenses must increase 
with the increase of our Carl’s age. 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEER. 183 

Another son was born to me — yourself, 
Wilhelm. How vividly this brought before 
my mind that event nearly twelve years back ! 

You grew up a joy to our hearts. When 
you were about ten years old, your mother 
had gone on a visit to a friend, to remain sev- 
eral weeks, and had taken you with her. I 
was alone at home, when Jacob — whom I had 
taken into my service some months after my 
marriage — entered my room, saying that a 
travelling carriage was before the door, and 
that a lady wished to speak to me. “ A lady, 
Jacob ? ” I asked. “ Undeniably, sir ! ” was his 
reply. “ Then show her up here.’' In a few 
minutes she was ushered into my room. 

“ Wilhelm,” said a low, soft voice, whose 
sound thrilled my heart with joy, and made 
every fibre of my body tremble with delight. 
“ Thekla, my own wronged darling ! ” and I 
opened my arms to receive her with loving 
embrace. But with eyes from which love-light 
shone, and lips half parted with a heavenly 
smile at this assurance that she still reigned in 
my heart, she said: “No, dearest; those en- 
dearments belong now to her who has taken 
my place. Our love must be of a higher order 
— must be such as we shall greet each other 
with in our home above. She makes you 
happy, love ? ” 


i 84 AUREOLA; 'OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

“ As happy as I ever can be, with our past 
to think of. She is a good woman, a loving, 
faithful wife, and a devoted mother.” A shade 
of sadness stole over her face as I mentioned 
your mother’s good qualities, and she said, 
mournfully, “ Poor woman ! ” but at that mo- 
ment this did not strike me as very singular ; 
for I was absorbed in scanning her features 
anxiously, detecting traces of great trials there, 
which made her still dearer to me. “You 
have suffered much, darling?” I asked, deeply 
moved by the lines upon her noble forehead, 
and around her eyes, and the silvery threads 
which I discovered. 

Her sweet, tender mouth quivered slightly, 
as if in pain, but she answered bravely : “ To 
separate fropi you, and for such a reason, were 
heavy trials for us both, Wilhelm ; but the 
knowledge that I acted rightly, and that I suf- 
fered for you, gave me strength and sustained 
me in hours of sorrow ; and I had much to be 
thankful for. First of all, our son has grown 
up a joy and blessing to his mother — like you 
in manner and appearance, as well as in good- 
ness and nobility of heart.” 

“These two latter qualities,” I interrupted 
her, “he has from his mother, dearest; and 
they are all her own.” 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 185 

“ He is now nineteen,” she continued, only 
smiling at my praise, “ and all that the heart 
of a fond mother could wish. He has received 
an excellent education, for he has made good 
use of the opportunities the best schools gave 
him. His great intellect grasped at every 
thing worth knowing ; and, by his modest yet 
manly bearing, he is a favorite with all who 
know him. Thanks to your liberality, I had 
always more than we wanted, and I therefore 
was able to save a sum of money, which allowed 
me, two years ago, to purchase a pretty little 
cottage, in the middle of a charming garden. 
What else could we wish, under the circum- 
stances ? and a year ago,” she added, thought- 
fully, and, as it seemed, hesitatingly, “ another 
great blessing has been added to my happi- 
ness, which, indeed, is the cause of my visit to 
you.” 

“ Before you go into details, however, dear- 
est, take some refreshment.” And going to 
the door, I called Jacob. “ Some wine, and — 
Jacob, if any one calls, I am not at home.” 

When my servant had retired, and she had 
taken a glass of wine, she began : 

“ About a year ago, one rainy, stormy even- 
ing, some one knocked at my door. Carl was 
absent, and my servant engaged in the stable ; 


l86 AUREOLA; OR, THE ELACRT SHEEP. 

therefore I opened the door myself. A man, 
ragged, unshaved, ghostly-looking, entered, or 
rather, staggered, into the hall. I was fright- 
ened, and on the point of calling for help, 
when he said, in a hollow voice, ‘ Thekla, do 
you not know your brother ? ’ It was indeed 
he. Dying, with no home to go to, he had, at 
last, found me out after years of searching — 
how, does not matter. He begged me, for 
heaven’s sake, not to refuse him a shelter, nor 
to visit his sins upon a dying man. ‘ It will, 
at the longest, be for a few weeks only, and 
then I shall have done troubling any one.’ I 
forgot the misery he had wrought for me, saw 
in him only my suffering, dying brother, and 
took him in. For five weeks I tended him 
carefully, tenderly, truly pitying him when I 
looked upon his wasted form, and noticed his 
quickly failing strength. One evening, when 
I was occupied in his room, smoothing his 
pillows and bathing his feverish brow, he 
looked at me long and wistfully. At last he 
said, ‘You are an angel, Thekla; how else 
could you have acted toward me as you have 
done?’ ‘You are my brother,’ I answered. 
‘ How could I have acted otherwise, seeing 
you so ill and wretched ? ’ ‘ Ah, sister, you 

cannot have forgotten the past, and the evil I 


AUREOLA; OR, THE EL A CAT SHEEP. 187 

have done you.’ ‘ Let us not speak of it, Sep- 
pel ; all is over now, and — forgiven.’ ‘You 
do not know all, Thekla, or you would not 
say so.’ ‘ What do you mean, brother ? ’ I 
asked, and he answered, ‘Listen. Sit down 
close by me, that I may see your face. You 
say Waldheim is married?’ ‘He is,’ I an- 
swered. A groan escaped him. ‘ Thekla, 
that story I told your husband on that infernal 
evening was a fiction.’ I sprang to my feet. 
‘Seppel ! ’ I cried, ‘ take care what you say — 
take care ! Do not, for Heaven’s sake, raise 
false hopes in my breast. It would kill me. 
I could not bear it, I have suffered so much 
already.’ 

“‘I am a dying man ; why should I lie now? 
I have no more to hope, nothing to gain or 
lose. You are the only being I ever cared 
for, and you I have wronged the most ; but I 
did not mean all the harm my story wrought. 
Sister, I swear to you I did not dream that the 
consequences would be so terrible ! ’ he cried, 
excitedly. ‘ What I told your husband was all 
true, save in one point — you we7'’e married by 
the real assistant clergyman ! ’ 

“I heard no more. The heavy load of shame 
that hitherto had weighed me down was sud- 
denly lifted, and proudly I now could raise my 


l88 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

head ; for I was again a wife. This thought 
alone resounded in my ears, in my heart, in my 
brain, through my whole body, and, with tears 
of joy, I pressed my brother’s hand again and 
again to my breast. ‘Prove it, Seppel — prove 
what you have told me ! ’ I cried, after I had 
become somewhat quieter. 

“ ‘ Every thing,’ he continued, ‘ had been 
planned as I told your husband — against my 
wish, I assure you, although I would ^ave 
gladly done all the wrong to Wilhelm Wald- 
heim that was in my power ; but here I could 
not injure him without harming you even 
more. But I was in my friend’s power — how 
much is not now necessary to state ; sufficient 
it is to mention that I had to do as he desired. 
I promised, and even pretended to be just as 
anxious to play the trick as he was ; but I 
resolved to counteract his design. When the 
time came for the assistant to depart for the 
mountains, I detained him, saying that one 
hour sooner or later would make no difference 
to the sick person, and that I would take it as 
an especial favor if he himself would perform 
the marriage ceremony. He was easily per- 
suaded. To witness the ill-suppressed rage 
— for he dared not show it openly — of my 
fri-end, when, entering the vestry, he perceived 


AUREOLA; OR, THE ELA CRT SHEER. 189 

the clergyman, in clerical attire, ready to step 
into the church, was terrible — all the more as 
he could not then vent it upon any one. There 
was no help for it ; he had to retire, and you 
were legally married. All this time I had 
had no revenge upon your husband, and the 
thought worried and vexed me almost beyond 
endurance. One day I had been particularly 
ill-treated by my friend — abused and taunted 
past bearing. My heart was filled with evil 
thoughts when I came down the road, and see- 
ing Waldheim, with a happy, smiling face, be- 
side you, as if mocking me in my misery, a 
devilish thought struck me — and you know 
what happened. The exultation I felt when I 
saw your husband’s face disordered with the 
great agony he felt at my fictitious story, was 
greatly lessened when I noticed your terror- 
stricken countenance. I went away, after your 
husband had kicked me out of doors, your 
death-like face of that evening haunting me 
constantly ; and after three weeks of restless 
wandering, I came back to tell j/ou the truth ; 
but you were gone, and the house was de- 
serted. I waited and searched in vain for either 
of you to return. None came, and the thought 
became conviction that I had done more harm 
than I had intended. From that time I became 


190 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

worse than I ever had been, and, to drown my 
remorse, threw myself from one dissipation 
into another, until my health gave way, and, 
after years of degradation, I found you. Can 
you forgive me now? ’ ‘Are you really sorry, 
Seppel, for what you have done ? Does it 
grieve you to have brought trouble upon Wil- 
helm Waldheim ? ’ ‘I repent, sister, and would 
give much to undo all.’ ‘Then, brother,’ I 
said, ‘ I forgive you.’ 

“ It is more than a year ago since my bro- 
ther made this confession. Ten months ago 
he died. What should I do ? This thought 
troubled me greatly. Should I keep it to my- 
self, and leave you untroubled by — what must 
be to you — a new calamity ? I wavered, re- 
solved, and hesitated again. Had it not been 
for our son, you should never have known of 
this discovery ; but we owe it to him. I have 
borne my disgrace secretly and uncomplain- 
ingly, but he — should he ever become aware 
of all the circumstances, would he stand back, 
and not ask for his right ? Although he has 
not the slightest suspicion that his father is 
not dead — and I myself shall never tell him to 
the contrary, for he is happy as he is — might 
he not, by one of those strange chances which 
so often upset our most cautious plannings, 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. igi 

hear the truth? Therefore, I thought it best 
to come to you, and not trust my story to a 
letter. Why should we not let matters re- 
main as they are, Wilhelm ? Why give people 
opportunity to talk, when, between ourselves, 
we may arrange every thing so as to satisfy 
our own conscience ? Accordingly, I propose 
that the lady wh^ is now known to the world 
as your wife, shall keep her place. Why 
should she and her child suffer for the crime 
mgf brother has committed ? Why should she 
feel the pain, the sorrow that / had to battle 
with and to endure ? She is good, you say, 
and makes you happy. I have borne in silence 
when I thought disgrace was upon me and our 
child ; and now the grief, dulled by time and 
lightened by the knowledge of there being no 
blemish upon our name, will seem as none to 
me. Our life, Wilhelm, is half spent,” and an 
angelic smile lit up her features — “only a few 
years more, dearest, and we shall be united 
again. But,” she continued, “ to provide for 
all cases, we must sign a written contract, in 
which we mutually declare our union as dis- 
solved ; none can then molest your present 
wife or younger child. Make a will, leaving 
all to her son ; and — ” 

“ And thus disinherit our child, Thekla ? 


192 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLA CRT SHEER. 

No ! noble woman,” I cried, hardly able to re- 
press my tears ; for her generosity, her entire 
self-denial, nearly made me bow down and 
worship the ground upon which she stood. “I 
shall divide between my two sons — ” 

“And doing so,” she interrupted, calmly, 
“ expose all ; lay before the world ojiir secret ; 
disgrace your younger son ; while, if you follow 
my advice, nobody will be disgraced. For, al- 
though what we call disgrace, in this case, is 
merely the opinion of the world — which does 
not count in the next world, as long as we suf- 
fer not by our own fault — it must, neverthe- 
less, be considered, for your children s sake.” 

I could say no more. She had conquered 
again. I loved you both, and grasped at the 
means held out to me to save you. 

She proceeded: “You will leave a letter to 
your younger son, in which you can privately 
name a sum to be paid to our Carl. Not too 
large, Wilhelm, for he now has all he wants ; 
but to satisfy yourself I know it will ease 
your mind, to have provided for him. It is 
not necessary that you give an explanation 
why you wish your son to do so : tell him to 
deposit the money in Glarus. I shall arrange 
the rest. The two brothers must never see 
each other; for, by this painting on your wall 


AUREOLA; OR, THE B L A C K S H E E P. I93 

here, I see that there is an extraordinary like- 
ness between them — so much so, that, when 
they both are grown up, one might be mistaken 
for the other ; therefore, if they should meet 
— especially if you give only half explanations 
in your letter — your younger son might have 
wrong ideas of the whole case. And now, dear 
love, farewell. W e shall meet once more, never 
to part again.” 

She had gone. Let me draw a veil over 
the following hours. Shrined in my inmost 
heart must remain the feelings that filled my 
soul after that angel had departed. 

Your mother died, ignorant of all. You 
grew up, unsuspicious of the danger that had 
been averted from your head by the hand of a 
woman, so noble and good as to be worthy 
to be counted among saints. But I cannot 
leave this world, my son, without informing 
you of all. I cannot allow that her sacrifice 
should not be known and well understood by 
you, whom it touches so closely, and who will 
benefit so much by her generous conduct. 
She has left this earth, and is gone to a world 
where she awaits me. Seek your brother. 
He must be in Glarus, I suppose. Give him 
fifty thousand gulden. Let it come to him 
17 N 


194 AU^REOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP, 

openly, or in disguise — as you see fit. I leave 
every thing in your hands, and confide entirely 
in your honor. Remember her who was my 
wife, but, to save you, renounced her right, of 
her own free will. 




CHAPTER XIX. 



SUSPENSE. 

|AROLINE’S tears flowed freely while 
reading old Mr. Waldheim’s confes- 
sion ; and when she had finished and 
laid by the manuscript that so deeply 
had affected her, she said sadly and thought- 
fully : “ Poor, noble woman, and poor, faint- 
hearted Wilhelm ! how little did you under- 
stand the depth of my affection for you, that 
you doubted its strength even with so great 
an example before you — that of your - father’s 
wife. Or, was it your pride that has brought 
the sufferings of so many years upon us? 
Was it that your love for me was inferior to 
that quality whose existence alone should have 
shown you that the love you professed for me 
was not free from selfishness ? You thought 
of yourself only; and did not think, in your 
sorrows, of the grief that your resolve would 

195 


196 AUREOLA: OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

bring upon me. Yet, one thought of gladness 
is left, which fills my heart with joy — that your 
pride, after all, had to give way, and let love 
win the day, when you feared to lose me for- 
ever; when you saw that another would soon 
call me his own ; and when you had to tell 
yourself that then you could hope no more. 
This brought you back upon the road you had 
so foolishly forsaken, and forced you to let me 
have my right. You forgot, Wilhelm Wald- 
heim, that the superior always must make room 
for the inferior, and I triumph in your defeat.” 

Her face was wreathed in smiles, and her 
eyes flashed the delight she felt, after she had 
come to this conclusion. But soon the glow 
of exultation faded from her countenance, and 
clouds of doubt settled upon her brow, when 
the image of Mr. Herder — her intended hus- 
band — presented itself before her mind. Her 
heart beat uneasily within her breast, and her 
fingers interlaced themselves in mute perplex- 
ity, when the question. What to do with him f 
arose within her. That she had to tell him all 
— as much as she herself was concerned — she 
at once resolved. This must be done without 
delay; but, how to do it? and what would be 
the result? Those thoughts weighed heavily 
upon her mind, and made her tremble. Would 


AUREOLA; OR, THE B L A C K S H E E P. I97 

he not ask why she had not previously told him 
of the engagement that had existed between 
her and Waldheim? and might he not keep her 
to her promise to become his wife? Or would 
he release her, and generously forgive the 
wrong she had done him ? And her parents ? 
She grew dizzy when she pictured to herself 
all that she had to go through, if she should 
take notice of the contents of the papers she 
had just read. Her courage failed her, and for 
the first time in her life she felt weak in spirit 
and unable to decide on the spot. Once or 
twice the thought occurred to her if it might, 
perhaps, not be the best thing to let matters 
have their course, send back the papers to 
their owner, and tell him, “Too late.” Only 
for a moment, however, did she harbor such a 
thought ; for reason told her that to take this 
last step would bring unhappiness upon every 
one interested in the case, but that to follow 
her first inclination would certainly create sor- 
row to some of them, but only such as time, 
and perhaps other ties, might heal. Thus, in 
undecided confusion, she spent the day; and 
when evening came she had made up her mind 
so far as to await her intended’s return, speak 
first to him, humbly ask his forgiveness, leave 
the decision in his own hands, and rely on his 

17* 


198 AUREOLA; OR, THE BEACH SHEEP. 

generosity and his love for her, which, if true 
and unselfish, would not allow him to sacrifice 
her feelings for his benefit. Carl was a gentle- 
man, she said to herself, a man of high honor; 
moreover, she believed that her welfare had, 
so far, always been first in his consideration ; 
and, therefore, she would pluck up her cour- 
age and appeal to his heart in the manner 
she so well understood, if she willed it. The 
thought of her parents also troubled her great- 
ly, and her heart was heavy with thinking of 
the grief and pain this news must bring to 
them. 

Wilhelm Waldheim waited in a state of mind 
not easily described for the result of what he 
had done. Perplexing questions as to how Car- 
oline would take it troubled him and chased his 
blood in feverish restlessness through his veins. 
He had told himself that by evening he might 
expect an answer. But day waned into twi- 
light, and twilight deepened into night, with- 
out bringing any missive. Then despondency 
overmastered him, and he sat half the night 
in gloomy silence, trying to console himself 
with the idea that she must consult with her 
own thoughts, and that she would not give a 
decision too rashly in a matter of such great 
weight. Day broke, and he hoped again. 


AUREOLA; OR, THE EL A CR' SHEER, I99 

Although he could not reasonably expect an 
answer before the end of the morning, he still 
started at every sound, and several times 
opened the hall door himself when the bell 
rang ; but this day also went by, and still no 
answer from Caroline. How he spent the 
next following he could not have told ; for a 
kind of stupor held his senses, and he was 
unconscious how time passed. The third day 
— yet no better result. Had she read the 
manuscript at all ? Had she, thinking to get 
sooner rid of his presence by promising to 
accede to his wish, told him that she would 
read it, and, after he had left her, laid it by and 
forgotten all about it when Mr. Herder had 
returned ? Well — he would wait another day, 
he told himself dejectedly — would bear the 
torture of suspense still longer; but then he 
would send Jacob for the papers, begging her 
to return to him what he had foolishly fancied 
might interest her sufficiently, at least, to read. 

Jacob — old, devoted Jacob — how did it 
fare with him all these weary days of his 
beloved master’s trial ? Although Wilhelm 
had not told him exactly what he had done, he 
nevertheless had a pretty correct guess as to 
the consequences of the lecture he had given 
to his master on that evening when he had 


200 AUREOLA; OR, THE B L A C K S 1/ E E P. 

returned from the club-house. Wilhelm had, 
moreover, plainly told him that he would act 
upon his (Jacob’s) advice ; and the old ser- 
vant had noticed that, besides taking the box 
from its hiding - place, Mr. Waldheim had 
after that dressed with unusual care, leaving 
the house with a serious face, and, after per- 
haps an hour’s absence, had returned with a 
countenance not altogether despairing. All 
this faithful Jacob had noticed, counted up, 
thought over, and formed the shrewd opinion 
that the contents of that box must be now in 
Miss Gutmann’s possession, in order to decide 
whether his master should or should not be 
her future lord and master. From the discon- 
solate bearing of Mr. Waldheim these last 
days, he judged that this decision had not yet 
come, and that Mr. Waldheim looked upon 
this delay as a bad omen. 

Jacob had hitherto listened to the news 
Katharine brought from the fountain, in a 
condescending manner, apparently more to 
please the cook than that he himself cared 
much for it ; and although many a narrative 
had interested him as much, perhaps more, 
than it did the person who made it, neither by 
look or word had he shown the interest he 
took in them. Now he determined to suppress 


AUI^EOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 201 


his pride for once — in order that his master 
might benefit by it, and perhaps get some ray 
of light whereupon to live until he would hear 
from the young lady — and learn from Katha- 
rine whether Lena had had nothing new to 
gossip about her mistress’s house. Therefore, 
the fourth morning after Wilhelm Waldheim 
had been at Caroline’s house, Jacob visited 
the kitchen, and astonished the servants by an 
amiable inquiry after the news, adding gra- 
ciously, that of late Katharine had had so little 
to say to enliven the house, and that he really 
was curious to know what might be the cause 
of her unusual silence. 

The cook, who just then was lifting from 
her head a heavy water-tub whose metal hoops 
shone' like gold upon the snowy boards, drew 
herself up proudly, and, with a self-conscious 
smile, winked her eyes, saying, that since Mr. 
Herder had been away there had been no- 
thing remarkable going on in the Herr Stadt- 
shultheissen’s house — (the affairs of other 
households she knew well enough not to mo- 
lest Jacob’s ears with ; for she was by this time 
wise enough — with another wink — to know 
what interested him and what not) — but now, 
Lena had said, since the Herr Brautigam 
(bridegroom) had returned, there were fright- 


202 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEE P. 

ful scenes acted at her master’s house. Miss 
Caroline seemed to have returned to her old 
impish ways; for she set the house on fire by 
her obstinacy, coaxing, crying, smiling, caress- 
ing, and pouting. What it all was about, Lena 
could not find out; but certain it was that Miss 
Caroline’s parents were in awful humors, and 
Mr. Herder seemingly did not know which 
part to take. He evidently sided with the old 
people, but dared not confess it; for the young 
lady overwhelmed him with the wealth of her 
amiability, clung to him in such a bewitching 
helplessness of despair, that, against his incli- 
nation, he always again yielded to her wishes ; 
for which she rewarded him with ravishing 
glances that would make a proselyte of the 
most enthusiastic antagonist, let alone a man 
so entirely over head and ears in love as he 
was. 

Jacob had listened with great attention to 
Katharine’s recitation, smiling patronizingly at 
her hints and repeated winks, and left the 
kitchen with a lighter heart than when he en- 
tered it, proceeding to his master’s room, rub- 
bing his hands gleefully when he thought of 
the balsam he would pour soothingly upon 
Herr Waldheim’s troubles. After busying 
around a little while, moving bottles and pipes 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 203 

from their proper places to wrong ones, he 
said, “So Mr. Herder has come back at last.” 
As no answer followed, he gave a silver mug, 
which he was holding in his hand, an extra 
rub to make the shining metal still brighter, 
and went on: “If all is true that Katharine told 
me just now, then Miss Gutmann has returned 
to her former self — putting her home topsy- 
turvy by one of her obstinate fits.” Here he 
gave a side glance toward his master, and per- 
ceived, with satisfaction, that his pipe had been 
removed from his lips, and that now, as Jacob 
stopped speaking, an annoyed frown passed 
his features, as if vexed with the interruption. 
“Yes,” Jacob continued, “Lena said that cry- 
ing and coaxing, pouting and making up were 
just now the order of the day ever since her 
Brautigam’s return ; but the reason of all this 
fuss the inquisitive servant could not discover 
as yet. My opinion, however, is, that Miss 
Gutmann has somehow got it into her head to 
break off her engagement with Mr. Herder, 
and that, as a matter of course, her parents 
are dead set against it. That she sways her 
intended to her own will is pretty evident; 
for Lena says that, although, as she thinks, he 
rather sides with her parents — and I think 
he would in this case — Miss Caroline, bring- 


204 AUREOLA; OR, THE ELA CRT SHEER. 

*ing the whole force of her winning loveliness 
upon him, fascinates him into taking her part, 
though his heart must cry out with pain, and 
that the sacrifice she asks of him — or, rather, 
would bewitch him into — is almost too great 
for him to make.” 

“ Jacob, you speak upon matters you under- 
stand nothing about ; and it seems to me that 
old age makes you fond of gossiping.” 

“ I beg your pardon, Herr Wilhelm ; per- 
haps you are right,” said the old man, with- 
drawing from the room, but rejoicing ; for it 
had not escaped his watchful eye that Mr. 
Waldheim’s clouded brow had cleared while 
he was speaking, that the sound of his voice 
had a ring of relief in its train, and that his 
master had not interrupted him until he saw 
that he was in possession of all the news. All 
this told his faithful heart that his mission was 
crowned with success, and that his master was 
somewhat comforted. 



CHAPTER XX. 

THE • CORD SEVERED. 

H IRAULEIN Caroline, Mr. Herder has 
come, and is inquiring for you,” said 
one of the servants, entering the 
room in which her young mistress 
was sitting. 

“Tell him that I shall be glad to see him.” 
A bright flush dyed her features — then re- 
treated as quickly, leaving her very pale. The 
moment for decision had come, and she must 
give pain to the man who loved her so well. 
Caroline had come to honor Carl Herder very 
much. How could she help esteeming and 
respecting one who so unselfishly had given 
his whole heart to her, asking nothing, yet 
lavishing so much upon her ? Therefore her 
womanly feelings revolted from the blow that 
she knew would be so hard, yet which she was 
compelled to deal. 

i8 


205 


2 o 6 a UJ^EOLA; OR, THE ELA CRT SHEEP. 

With eager step, her intended entered the 
apartment, and, with shining eyes full with 
tender feelings, embraced her. “You look 
pale, dearest ? ” he asked, anxiously. “ May I 
attribute this to your having been wishing for 
my company ? ” and a happy, half-expecting 
smile played around his lips. 

Caroline turned her head away, and an ex- 
pression of great pain passed over her lovely 
features. 

“You do not seem glad to see me back 
again, dearest ? ” And his voice was sad, and 
his hand loosened the clasp around her form. 

“Forgive me, Carl. I am both glad and 
sorry to see you ; for — ” 

“For?” he repeated, questioningly. “What 
troubles you, darling ? Confide in me, and if 
it is in my power, I will help you. That you 
must certainly know. You know that I would 
die for you if it would benefit you.” 

“ Ah ! ” thought Caroline, and a deep sigh 
escaped her, “it is a far harder task than I 
thought. How can I have the heart to go on 
to hurt his faithful mind so deeply ? ” 

“ What brings these tears into your eyes, 
which are made for smiles only, dearest ? 
Come, tell me, and let me share your trouble.” 

“I am unhappy, Carl^ — very unhappy!” and 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 20 / 

the tears, which had been slowly gathering, fell 
now in large, hot drops from her eyes. 

“ Can I not make you again happy ? ” 

“You could, Carl — yes, you could,” she re- 
peated, sadly and slowly ; “ but — would you f ” 
and she riveted her gaze earnestly upon his 
countenance, as if searching there for some 
sign that might let her hope; but she withdrew 
it, sighing deeply as she read there only love, 
fervent love. 

“ Are my looks so very unpromising ? Do 
they give you no confidence, Caroline ? ” he 
asked, smiling at her perusal of his features. 
“ Can you not believe and trust in me ? ” 

“You torture me by your tenderness and 
fondness,” she murmured, leaning her head 
upon his shoulder, and* sobbing as if her heart 
would break. 

At once he loosened his hold and let her go. 
“ There, dearest,” he said, in a pained voice. 
“I forgot — ” 

“Oh, Carl — Carl, you misunderstand me! 
Come to me. I did not mean that. I have 
hurt you with my thoughtlessness I ” And 
she held out her hands as if in supplication. 
“ Have patience with me ; for mercy’s sake, 
have patience 1 You know not how much I 
suffer I ” 


208 AUREOLA; OR, THE ELACAT SHEEP, 

He was by her side in an instant, and, with 
caressing words, tried to soothe her. “You 
now must tell me all, dearest; for I cannot 
see you thus miserable. Do you not know 
that I love you ? ” 

“ How much do you love me, Carl ? Is 
your love for me so strong as even to sacrifice 
it, if need be ? ” and she scanned his features 
eagerly, waiting breathlessly for his reply. 

“ But zs there need, Caroline ? ” and he, in 
his turn, now watched her closely, asking 
quickly, as she did not answer, but cast down 
her eyes: “For heaven’s sake, do not keep 
me in suspense. You cannot really mean 
what your words seem to imply? You do not 
intend to tell me that I must not love you any 
longer ? ” and his breast heaved in wild emo- 
tion, and his hand almost pained her, so strong 
was its clasp. 

“ No,” she said, slowly and impressively ; “ I 
‘wish you to love me always — as — ” and she 
looked tenderly into his questioning eyes — 
“ as a brother.” 

“ I cannot ! I never could love you with 
another love than that I feel now for you ! ” 
he exclaimed, almost savagely, and, spring- 
ing from his seat in sheer despair,* “ Caroline, 
why this change ? Whence comes this sudden 
wish ? ” 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLA CRT SHEER. 20g 

“ Carl,” and her voice was soft and tender, 
her eyes full with tears, and her mouth trem- 
bled with pain, “ this is no sudden resolution, 
as you think. Sit here by me ; let me hold 
your hand, that I may believe you are not 
angry with me, and I will tell you all.” 

He complied, saying, in a resigned manner. 
Commence.” 

“ Some years ago I was engaged to Wilhelm 
Waldheim.” She paused. 

Go on ! ” he said, almost inaudibly. 

I will not go into details, but simply state 
facts. We loved truly; but circumstances 
arose that made it necessary for him — at 
least, so he believed — to break our engage- 
ment. I continued to love him with my whole 
heart, although he never had given me his 
reason for desiring that we must separate. I 
had unlimited faith in his love, truth, and 
honor, thinking that there must exist, for the 
present, some cause that made our estrange- 
ment necessary, and hoping that the future 
would make all right again. Then a time 
came when I thought I had a right to think 
him faithless and false, and I resolved to forget 
him. I never succeeded. My heart was for- 
ever in his keeping. You came — we became 
what we are now. You remember how I 
i8* o 


2T0 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

warned you, but you would not be warned. 
You were neither afraid of my coldness nor 
of my want of feeling, hoping that your warm 
affection would kindle a like flame in my heart; 
but, dearest, I knew it could never be. Now, 
every thing has been cleared up between Wil- 
helm Waldheim and me. I know how greatly 
I wronged him, and how faithfully he always 
has loved me. He has been here while you 
were absent, merely to bring me some papers, 
which fully explain and justify the whole of 
his past conduct. He left the decision for our 
future entirely to me; and so, Carl, I come to 
you and ask you to forgive me, and — set me 
free. You have won from me all the love I 
could ever give to man, except to Wilhelm 
Waldheim — the love of a faithful friend and 
of an affectionate sister. My heart will bless 
you forever, and thank you for your gener- 
osity and forbearance towards -me, who must 
hurt you so deeply. Dear Carl,” she contin- 
ued, and her tearful voice trembled, “ shall it 
not be your loving hand that will give back to 
my starved heart the light and sunshine that 
it has craved for so long in vain ? ” 

How was it possible for him to see the beau- 
tiful supplicant thus bowed before him in mis- 
ery and not give her the boon she so beseech- 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 21 1 


ingly asked for ? How could he withhold from 
her, even if it should turn his future life into 
darkness, the granting of the prayer that would 
bring back to her, youth’s richest treasure — 
the power and means to enjoy life by a heart 
buoyant and fresh, and a spirit unclouded by 
shadows and troubles? How could he have 
the heart to crush the budding hope that made 
her eyes sparkle, and brought back upon her 
pale cheek the flush so delicate and lovely? 
Therefore he said — but his voice was broken, 
and his lips compressed with the effort it cost 
him : “ Darling, I love you too well not to wish 
to see you happy; and* it is out of my great 
love for you that I am able to say, ‘ I give you 
back your liberty;”’ and he laid his head upon 
his arms, and his frame shook with the excess 
of his deep emotion. 

Caroline leaned over him, and, carrying his 
hand to her lips, said, softly: “I thank you 
from my heart. Never shall I forget your 
great sacrifice ; and, when once you have 
come to feel for me a brother’s love, I shall 
show you that the love of a faithful sister is 
also worth having. One other favor I have to 
ask — will you grant it ? ” 

“ Whatever it may be, I grant it. The worst 
is over, and every thing else will seem as child’s 
play. What is it ? ” 


212 AUREOLA; OR, THE ELA CRT SHEER. 

“Will you intercede with my parents for 
me ? I fear to tell them, poor darlings.” 

“ I will — but not now, Caroline ; you must 
not ask too much at once.” 

“ Not now, if you prefer waiting until to- 
morrow ; but longer I should not like to wait.” 

“ I understand,” he said, and he could not 
quite repress the bitterness bis retort implied ; 
“ Mr. Waldheim expects his answer.” 

“ Dear Carl,” she said, gently laying her 
hand on his. 

“ Forgive me, Caroline,” he said, wearily ; “ I 
am but human, and I have not yet schooled 
my heart to bear the ^angs it necessarily must 
now endure. And now, my love — my own no 
longer — farewell!” and with features, upon 
which were written the terrible conflict of his 
soul, he left her to herself. 




CHAPTER XXL 

AT LAST. 

HE interview between Caroline and 
her parents was necessarily a very 
painful one; and though Mr. Herder, 
against the promptings of his heart, 
but guided by the reproachful or grateful looks, 
as the occasion might require it, of his recent 
betrothed, conducted himself as well as could 
be expected, and supported his painful part as 
stoutly as it was possible for him, consider- 
ing the circumstances, Mr. Gutmann insist- 
ed on having explained why he, Carl Herder, 
after having professed such great love for his 
daughter, now, all at once, wished to break off 
the engagement ? And the old gentleman made 
some pretty severe remarks, which, at last, in- 
duced Caroline to change the whole aspect of 
the case, by boldly coming forward and ex- 
plaining “that it was not Carl who wished it, 

213 



214 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

but she herself ; and he ” — and she looked 
proudly and lovingly at him — “ because he 
loved her so well, had yielded to her entreaties, 
sacrificed his heart’s greatest desire, and nobly 
given her back her liberty, as he wished to see 
her happy. And she hoped,” she added, while 
tears of deep gratitude welled up in her 
eyes, “ that her parents would do no less than 
profit by the generous example of him, whom, 
after themselves and Wilhelm Waldheim, she 
must always love and honor the most in the 
world.” And then she went up to him, cling- 
ing lovingly to his arm. 

Her parents were astonished at the turn 
matters had taken, and desired to know what 
Wilhelm Waldheim might have to do with this; 
he who, years ago, without giving any suffi- 
cient reason, had, of his own free will, broken 
his engagement with their daughter ? 

Then Caroline told all — as much, at least, 
as she thought proper at the time ; and Mr. 
Gutmann growled and grumbled, and puffed 
away at his pipe at a most furious rate, thereby 
showing plainly that, although the first storm 
was over, the sea was not yet quite pacified ; 
so that Caroline had to bring forward all her 
most persuasive forces to smooth the waters 
so violently and abruptly ruffled. This was the 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLA CRT SHEE P. 21 $ 

tims of which Lena had spoken at the fountain, 
and this the news with which she had enter- 
tained her fellow-servants, and which soon was 
to startle the whole town, set idle tongues talk- 
ing, and provide food for Kaffee-visiten. 

Carl Herder remained a daily visitor at Mr. 
Gutmann’s house — a very exceptional case ; 
but Caroline wished it, and he himself was 
happy to have at least the opportunity of see- 
ing her often, and of receiving what he never 
was able to win from her during their whole 
engagement, unrestrained affection and entire 
confidence ; and although he found pleasure in 
the change in her manner — so loving, cling- 
ing, and trusting now — still he sighed when 
he thought what had created this revolution 
in her whole being, and often he would look 
sadly at her when thinking of the time when 
Wilhelm Waldheim would be allowed to enjoy 
all the rights he had to lay down in order to 
install him in the place in which he himself had 
been so happy — doubting seriously whether 
he might have strength to witness their entire 
happiness. 

Not quite so soon were his worst fears to 
be realized; for Caroline, with true womanly 
tact, delicacy, and forethought, had laid down 
a plan for herself which she was determined 


2 i 6 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP, 

to put into action. Good, noble Carl should 
reign supreme many months yet, and should 
not be put away with in haste, and wounded 
by seeing her lavish endearments upon an- 
other which so very recently only he had a 
right to expect. She would show him that she 
esteemed what he had done for her too highly 
to hurt him by putting, as it were, a tombstone 
upon the grave of his hopes, and then go and 
rejoice with the living. No, he should be first, 
if not in her heart, at least before the world, 
yet awhile, and then, when he had become 
more familiar with the thought of looking upon 
her as an affectionate friend, and become ac- 
customed to think of her as one who soon 
would form other ties, she would allow Wil- 
helm Waldheim to come forward and claim 
her as his own. Carl Herder had sacrificed 
himself as few men would have done, and in 
such a beautiful manner, remaining her friend 
in spite of all ; and she would, at least, let him 
have a year to recover from the blow she had 
had to deal. One interview she would have 
with Wilhelm Waldheim to apprise him of 
what she meant to do: she knew that he 
would see that she was right, and also appre- 
ciate her motive for acting thus; but if he would 
not accede to her wish, she would tell him 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 2\J 

that he need not, but that she certainly would. 
However, she feared not. Waldheim was 
good and noble himself, and would support 
her in doing her duty. 

A week had passed, and every day that Mr. 
Herder came to visit Caroline he trembled 
lest he should meet Waldheim ; but, as yet, 
the coast had been clear, and he saw that 
he had not yet been supplanted. At fast he 
could restrain himself no longer, and asked 
her openly whether she had seen Wilhelm 
Waldheim. 

“ Not yet,” Caroline answered ; but I sent 
him a note to-day, telling him that I wished to 
speak to him.” 

Mr. Herder turned away to suppress a sigh 
that involuntarily forced itself to his lips. “At 
last ! at last ! ” he murmured, dejectedly. 

“ Come here, Carl you must trust me, 
and believe me when I say that though you 
have outdone me in generosity, you shall see 
that I will do all I can to lessen your trou- 
ble and to spare you all unnecessary pangs. 
Will you believe what I say, although just 
now I cannot tell you what I mean to do ? ” 

“ I will, Caroline ; I will be happy while you 
allow me to be near you.” 

“This is well. I shall expect to see you 
19 


2I8 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP, 

every day, Carl — mind, just as usual, and shall 
be very much disappointed and hurt — taking 
it, in fact, as a sign that you are offended with 
me — if you cease your visits, which I prize so 
highly.” 

Somehow, he could not tell why, he felt com- 
forted by what she said, and he resolved not to 
trouble himself with imaginations, but wait and 
believe what she had told him. 

Jacob had taken a letter from the postman 
and carried it to his master’s study. He had 
hardly reached the hall again, when he heard 
Mr. Waldheim call his name loudly, and as it 
appeared to him, in a somewhat excited man- 
ner : 

“ My horse, Jacob — and quick! at once!” 

He hastily hurried to the stable to obey the 
command, wondering at his master’s agitated 
manner. “What had happened? Where did 
that letter come from ? Was it from Miss 
Gutmann — and had she refused him ? ” He 
saddled the animal quickly, and brought it to 
the door — fastening it to a post, and ascending 
the stairs. He would inquire — yes, he would, 
no matter whether Mr. Waldheim would be 
angry or not. He opened the door. His mas- 
ter turned quickly, asking : “ Well ? ready ? ” 

“Yes, Herr Wilhelm; but — ?” he hesitated; 


AUREOLA; OR, THE ELA CRT SHEER. 2ig 

then took courage, and asked boldly: “This 
letter has not brought you bad news ? ” 

“ Oh, I forgot. Come here, faithful old soul : 
wise prophet, listen.” 

And then he read to him as follows : 

“My own Love — Mr. Herder has gener- 
ously released me from my promise to become 
his wife. I have informed him of our former 
engagement, and of my love for you. He has 
acted as a true gentleman, showing the unself- 
ishness of his affection for me, by giving up 
what was dearest to him on earth. He de- 
serves not only my highest esteem, but I also 
shall, from henceforth, look upon him as a 
dear, cherished brother and friend. About 
this and other matters I wish to speak to you 
at your earliest convenience. Ever your own 
lovinor Aureola.” 

o 

“ Hurrah, hurrah ! ” shouted Jacob, at the top 
of his lungs, throwing his cap in the air in mad 
exultation. “ Right at last! ” 

“Jacob, Jacob,” said his master, “ stop your 
noise ; people will think you have gone crazy. 
Besides, Miss Gutmann has, perhaps, some 
conditions to make.” 

“ Which you will be wise enough to accept, 


220 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 


sir,” the old servant interrupted, without any 
regard to respect. “And what do you want 
your horse for, pray ? ” 

“ Do you not see that it is too soon to go to 
^ her house? I shall take an hour’s ride to quiet 
my nerves, for I could not spend the time 
within these four walls now, with my blood 
racing in my veins. So good-by, Jacob, until 
eleven o’clock.” 

“ Good - by, sir,” and his eyes glistened 
while he watched his master riding ofif, and 
tears of joy were in his honest eyes when he 
shut the door. 




CHAPTER XXII. 


REUNITED. 



^^'AROLINE looked very lovely, re- 
clining in an easy - chair, awaiting 
Wilhelm Waldheim’s coming. A 
dress of a delicate shining green, of 
some fine texture, fell like glistening clouds 
around her fairy form. Delicate lace ruffles 
encircled her beautiful throat, and fell over her 
dimpled hands. A chain of jet, set in gold, 
lay around her neck, setting off her dazzling 
complexion to perfection, while her hair, like 
a veil of gold, held back by a string of pearls, 
rippled down her shoulders in wavy masses. 
Lost in thought, a pensive smile upon her 
lips, she did not hear his knock. The door 
opened, and Waldheim stood before her. Hes- 
itatingly he remained near the entrance, but, 
her joyful call, “ Wilhelm ! ” brought him to 
her feet. 


L 


19 


221 


222 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

“Aureola, may I indeed call you my own 
again ? ” 

How this name thrilled her, making every 
nerve of her body vibrate with delight! No- 
body, ever since, had called her so. 

“ I always was your own, Wilhelm, although, 
in your foolish pride, you would have it other- 
wise.” 

“ But the papers. Aureola ? Have you read 
them ? ” 

“ I have, dearest, and cried over them, and 
mourned over them, that you, after having 
read them, still could persist in making us un- 
happy, by refusing to trust in my love.” 

“You then have read all, love? And know 
what — I am ? ” and a flush of shame dyed his 
face. 

“I know nothing, but that we love each* 
other, and that you have had your way too 
long.” 

“ But your parents ? ” 

“ My parents know only as much as is good 
for them to learn. After our marriage, per- 
haps they may hear all — not before,” she said, 
decidedly. 

“ But, dearest, I would rather — it is not 
honest.” 

“Yes, yes,” she said, smilingly, “you would 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 223 

rather create mischief again, after your own 
fashion. No, sir, your reign is over; you are 
a bad manager,’' she added, looking archly into 
his eyes. “And about its being not honest, 
pray, have you been so very honest, when 
you allowed yourself to think fit to be the only 
and proper judge, in forming our future, years 
ago? Was it so very honest to keep from my 
knowledge the contents of that box ? There, 
sir ; as I say, in future I shall take the matter 
into my own hands. You have had your way 
long enough, and a nice mess you have made 
of it. I think it is time that you should know 
that.” 

“ Well — anything you wish, darling; only tell 
me again that you are indeed free to love me.” 

“Yes, I am free, indeed; but — Wilhelm — 
not before a year is over.” 

“Aureola!” he cried, surprised. “Has Mr. 
Herder made conditions ? This was not gen- 
erous.” 

In an instant her blood was up in her 
friend’s defence. “He has made no condi- 
tions whatever. He left me free to do what 
I pleased, and — Wilhelm — ” and her voice 
grew low and impressive and her eyes flashed 
the earnestness she felt — “there is no man, 
except you and my father, whom I love and 


224 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

honor more than Carl Herder; and those who 
do not think well of him may as well remain 
away from my side. But you must first listen 
to what I have to tell you, and then you will 
understand my intention, and join me in what 
I think is our duty.” 

First she made him acquainted with the 
occurrences of the last week, describing Carl 
Herder’s conduct with great emotion, and then 
proceeded to inform him of the resolve she 
had made. “ If Mr. Herder, as my bride- 
groom, had died, I should not and could not, 
in propriety, have formed another engagement 
with any man before a year had elapsed, nor 
would any gentleman have attempted to pay 
attentions to me within that time. I consider 
Mr. Herder dead — that means, as my bride- 
groom ; and therefore, deem it due to his 
memory that I shall consider myself, as it were, 
in mourning for him for the space of a year. 
Had he not behaved in such an exemplary 
manner, remaining my friend, although it was 
my hand that thrust him from me, I should 
have managed differently, gratified my feelings 
and inclinations ; but as it is, I think he de- 
serves to be treated as tenderly and as con- 
siderately as possible. He will continue to 
visit me frequently ; I begged it of him as a 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 22 $ 

favor. It will be a solace to me to know that 
he is not angry with me, and to see him become 
gradually accustomed to look upon me as a 
faithful friend, and upon you too ; for he has 
done for you as much as for me, Wilhelm. 
Nobody ever knew of the engagement that 
had existed between you and me ; therefore 
when Mr. Herder and I shall have been sep- 
arated for a year, you may begin to pay your 
attentions. It will, of course, seem to us like 
a farce ; but his feelings must be spared now, 
and must be thought of even before ours. 
And you, darling,” she said, softly, throwing 
her arms tenderly around his neck, “ do you 
not think I am right ? ” 

“You are right. Aureola, as you always are 
where right or wrong is concerned,” he said, 
gravely, looking proudly at her flushed fea- 
tures, doubly beautiful now while speaking for 
such a cause. “ This year will pass quickly ; 
for we are sure of our love, and will be happy 
in doing right. I know I can trust you, and I 
am as anxious as you to show Mr. Herder 
that I am grateful to him for giving me back 
my treasure. From to-day, then, we must 
meet no more ? ” 

“ Not, except in public, dearest.” 

“ And can I not write to you ? ” 

p 


226 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACR SHEEP. 

“ Neither, Wilhelm ; but you must come to 
see me once more. You have one great duty 
to fulfil. You now must start at once to seek 
— your brother. The result of that meeting I 
should wish to hear from your own lips. I 
have told you where he lives ; so it cannot be 
hard for you to find him.” 

“If he should make all public?” Waldheim 
asked, fearfully. 

“ He will not do so ; for he is the son of 
that noble woman, and of your fattier. Be- 
sides, how could he benefit by it? Your 
father and his mother signed a contract, you 
remember, in which they mutually dissolved 
their union. He has a right to those fifty 
thousand gulden your father mentioned; but 
even that is not legally his due. Do not think 
that my thoughts are intent on money matters. 
I mention this only to pacify your doubts. I 
say, leave everything in his hands. Even offer 
to leave him all, and that you would be satisfied 
with the sum your father meant for him ; for, 
after all, what is money ? Ought it be valued 
so highly ? Can it bring happiness, if we pos- 
sess it without those far superior treasures, 
goodness and intellect? Dearest, you know 
that we can live contented without it ; or do 
you think that I care whether you are rich or 


AUREOLA: OR, THE ELACH SHEER. 22J 

poor, as long as your love is mine? No, dar- 
ling ; I care only whether you are good and 
honest, and that your heart is truly mine ; 
those are the qualities I set store by, and which 
bring happiness in the end. But do not fear : 
the son of her who acted thus nobly cannot 
do otherwise than follow his mother’s training. 
You will start soon, Wilhelm ? ” 

“To-morrow; for I am anxious to'set every 
thing right between Carl Waldheim and my- 
self.” 

“ This cannot be called parting, darling ; ” 
but tears were in her eyes as she tried to 
console him ; “ for in a few weeks you will 
be back, and then we shall meet frequently. 
Never again let there be any secret between 
us — it has cost us so much that we did not 
trust in each other.” 

“ Forgive me, my own love ; but I did not 
wfsh. to bring disgrace upon you.” 

“But who need know? No one; and I myself 
am satisfied with you as you are ! ” 

“ You will not let me wait too long after the 
year is over. Aureola, but soon become my 
wife ? I have waited so long ! ” 

She smiled saucily, and saitl : “Your own 
fault, sir. You deserve to be punished. I 
promise you, however, she added, noticing his 


228 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

pained look, “whatever time you may then 
name I shall agree to. There, are you satis- 
fied ? Oh, you darling ! ” she cried, throwing 
herself impulsively upon his breast, “how hap- 
py I am to call you mine again, and to be al- 
lowed to tease and to abuse you again ! Now 
go, you greedy man ; be thankful for what you 
have. Farewell, love, and good luck to your 
enterprise.” 

“Will you tell Mr. Herder and your parents 
of our interview ? ” 

“ Both know that I expected you ; but what 
we have said must remain between us two.” 




CHAPTER XXIII. 

CARL WALDHEIM AND HIS FAMILY. 

ILHELM safely reached the Baths of 
Stachelberg. Early the next morn- 
ing he set out, following the path 
that leads to the Panthenbriicke, and 
keeping a close lookout, right and left, for a 
villa situated in a garden. Two hours’ walk 
brought him to the bend in the road that Caro- 
line had spoken of. A few steps more, and 
before him in peaceful beauty lay the little cot- 
tage in the middle of a charming garden. The 
sun shone brilliantly, distinctly, lighting up 
every object around. Right in view of him 
was the carefully trimmed hedge, closely en- 
circling his brother’s property. There, in the 
centre of the well-kept place, with its evenly 
gravelled walks, gayly shimmering flower-beds, 
and substantial kitchen-garden, stood the clean, 
neat, inviting house, shaded by tall trees, its 

20 229 



230 AUREOLA; OR, THE BEACH SHEEP. 

porch fenced in^by creepers and green vines 
which had twined firmly around the lattice, 
and had even reached the lowering roof in 
their growth. 

Wilhelm’s heart beat fast, and the blood 
rushed to his head when he thought of what 
he had to disclose to the master of that dwell- 
ing, and what a few minutes more might 
bring to himself. In the mean time he had 
opened the gate, had walked up the path lead- 
ing to the entrance, when his step was ar- 
rested by a charming voice within the house, 
singing to the accompaniment of a Zither, 
a favorite instrument in the Tyrol and Swit- 
zerland. The song was one of those beautiful 
Tyrolean airs which have so much melody 
with a touch of sadness in their composition. 
It was a youthful, girlish voice, sweet and 
sympathetic, and beautifully adapted to express 
the sentiment of the song. Wilhelm stopped 
to listen. He had stood thus for several min- 
utes, almost forgetting what he had come for, 
when a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and 
a deep, full -toned voice asked, “You seem 
to be fond of music, sir ? ” Wilhelm turned, 
and both started back in mutual surprise. 

“ Carl Waldheim ! ” Wilhelm exclaimed. 

“ That is my name,” replied the other, re- 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BL A CRT SHEEP. 23I 

covering from his astonishment; “but how 
you should know it is a riddle to me ; for, to 
my knowledge, I have never seen you before, 
although — ” and he again gazed wonder- 
ingly upon Wilhelm — “although you certainly 
are strangely like myself, except that you look 
younger, now that I observe you closely; but, 
at first sight, we both being bearded, one might 
hardly notice it. Whoever you are, sir, in what 
can I serve you ? ” 

“ My name is Wilhelm Waldheim.” 

“ A relation of mine ! ” Carl cried, amazed. 
“ I never was aware that I was so happy as to 
possess one. However, I am rejoiced at it. 
Be pleased to come in. My wife will be glad 
to know you, and to hear that I have found a 
relative.” 

“Not yet,” said Wilhelm. “I am a relation 
of yours, but whether a near or distant one I 
prefer not to tell you myself. This packet ” — 
pulling from his breast-pocket a parcel — “will 
make you acquainted with every thing. I shall 
leave it to your perusal, and at this hour to- 
morrow morning I shall again come to see 
you, in order to hear from you how the con- 
tents of these papers may have affected you, 
and, consequently, what your intentions con- 
cerning our relationship may be.” 


232 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEEP. 

Carl Waldheim’s brow contracted. “ What ! 
a secret? I dislike secrets; they seldom bring 
any thing good.” 

“ In this case you will have to change your 
opinion ; for, as far as you are concerned, 
this” — pointing to the packet — “will bring 
you nothing bad. And now I will wish you 
good morning. I stop at the baths of Stach- 
elberg, and shall come to-morrow to arrange 
matters.” 

“What! and you will not come in to take 
some refreshment? I cannot allow it; I should 
positively take it as — ” 

“ Thank you, sir,” interrupted Wilhelm, 
smiling at his brother’s earnestness, “ not until 
you are acquainted with the news these papers 
contain. I have searched for you for several 
years. I have even been in Glarus, but did 
not succeed in finding you. Only lately did I 
accidentally hear where you .dwell, and have 
not lost much time in hurrying hither.” 

“I am greatly obliged to you for your trou- 
ble ; but do you really decline to enter ? ” 

“ I must at present. When you have read 
the papers you will understand why. Was 
that your wife whom I heard singing? She 
has a very pleasing voice.” 

“No, sir,” he replied, smilingly, “but one 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEE P. 233 

whom I love next to her. It is my wife’s 
only sister, our darling pet, Mathilde Werner.” 

Wilhelm retraced his steps to his lodgings 
with a mind much more at ease than when 
he had left them. His brother’s frank, out- 
spoken manner had heightened his confidence 
as to the favorable reception he might expect 
the next day. He was almost sure that Carl 
would view the matter in the right manner, 
perceiving that neither he (Wilhelm) nor their 
father had done wrong, and therefore could 
not be blamed for accidental chances, in which 
they themselves had had no hand. On that 
point he told himself he need not be afraid. 
Less secure did he feel, however, when he 
pondered over the consequences, on account 
of money matters, which the disclosure of the 
whole affair might produce ; for a man may 
be all that one desires him to be, but, hold 
riches before him, tempt him with wealth, es- 
pecially if he never possessed any, and if he 
then stands the test, still holding to the right, 
pronouncing honesty a better passport to hap- 
piness than the largest worldly treasures, then 
you may form a true idea of the value of his 
inner man. How very few such are there ? 
Would his brother prove an exception to the 
rule ? 


20 


234 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

Wilhelm Waldheim had always certainly 
cared for worldly goods, for they had become 
necessary to him, and he would not have 
known what to do without them ; but he cared 
doubly for them now, since Caroline so soon 
would be his own. Upon her he wished to 
lavish them, and with them he wanted to 
beautify her life. It is true she had told him 
that she cared not whether he was rich or 
poor ; but she had no idea how; much she must 
give up, if his brother should accept the whole 
of what he meant to offer. Now, since he 
could not give her an unblemished name, he 
wished, more than ever, to surround Caroline 
with splendor and wealth. 

With such fruitless speculations he passed 
several hours, and then resolved to wait as 
quietly as he could for the morrow. 

The following day he set out to visit Carl 
Waldheim. He had walked not more than 
half an hour, when he was awakened from 
his reveries by a loud, cheery voice, calling : 
“ Hallo, brother ! on the road already ? I 
thought to surprise you at your breakfast;” 
and at the same time his hands were clasped 
in a warm embrace, and the brothers stood 
face to face with each other. 

This unexpected meeting, and yet more the 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACAT SHEER. 235 

cordial, brotherly greeting, assured Wilhelm 
more than any lengthy explanation could have 
done ; and, with a countenance glowing with 
heartfelt satisfaction, he pressed the hand so 
honestly holding his own. “Thanks, thanks, 
brother, for your generous — 

“There, there,” interrupted Carl. “We 
benefit equally by the whole transaction, for I 
should think to find a brother is worth some- 
thing ; and we must indeed make much of the 
matter, for we two are the only ones left of an 
honorable stock ; ” and with his honest eyes look- 
ing affectionately into Wilhelm’s, Carl broke 
out into a joyous, ringing laugh. “ How Wil- 
helmine — that is my wife — will be astonished, 
when I bring her a relation!” Noticing the 
painful flush that colored his brother’s face, he 
added, quickly : “ Do not fear, Wilhelm : no- 
thing shall be said that could hurt you ; and it 
was to speak about this particularly, that I re- 
solved to seek you at your lodgings, before 
you came to my home. Let us sit under yon- 
der large tree. There we can rest, and ar- 
range everything to our satisfaction.” 

Carl had so far supported the conversation 
almost alone, for Wilhelm’s breast was too full 
for much speech. First, the reception his bro- 
ther had surprised him with had moved him to 


236 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLA CRT SHEEP. 

the heart. Then not without wonder had he 
noticed that Carl seemed to think much more 
of having found a brother, than of the money 
he would gain by the discovery. His Joy, in 
having discovered a near relation, seemed to 
be so genuine and unaffected, the thought of* 
money so secondary in his mind, that Wilhelm 
looked upon him with wonder, almost with 
reverence. 

“This is a place quite suited for a con- 
fidential talk, Wilhelm,” said Carl, stretching 
himself comfortably upon the soft grass in the 
shade of the tree. “ I have read the manu- 
script, and it has^ explained much to me about 
my mother — that often I could not understand. 
It has shown me the entire beauty of her noble 
self, framed, as it were, in a glory-shine. Yes, 
ever self-denying and sacrificing her own pleas- 
ure for others, that seemed to be the ambition* 
of her life. Often sad when she thought her- 
self unobserved, yet cheerful and pleasant 
when with others. Carrying her burden alone, 
not wishing to lessen the joy of others by trou- 
bling them with her sorrows. As you see her 
described in these papers, brother, thus she was 
always in her dealings — a blessing to us, and 
a support at any time. We missed her sadly, 
Wilhelm, and her place will never be filled, and 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 237 

my longing for her will never cease, until we 
meet again.” With a thoughtful, yearning, 
upward look, Carl gazed in silence into the 
distance, and a tear trickled slowly down his 
bronzed cheek, while his thoughts wandered 
back to the past, picturing to himself the time 
when the dear dead one still was with them. 
Then recovering, he continued : “ I said we, 
for my mother knew my wife before I married 
her, and loved her as a daughter. She lived 
with us two years before she died. After 
my mother’s death we took my wife’s sister, 
Mathilde, to live with us, a dear, darling girl, 
whom you will be pleased to know. I have 
one son, eight years of age. We lost a 
daughter, who would now have been twelve. 
Now you know all about me and mine. 
There is something about my life mentioned 
in the papers, nothing important, but enough 
to make me rejoice. My mother tells my 
father that I give her satisfaction, and I have 
friends who love me. Now, about yourself, 
Wilhelm — the life of my only brother should 
not be unknown to me.” 

“You have not mentioned the sum of money 
our father wishes me to put into your hands — ” 

“ Ah, yes — ” 

“No; let me finish first, Carl!” Wilhelm 


238 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

interrupted his brother. “ Let us exchange. I 
so long have had the use of the wealth which 
ought to belong to you, that we thought to 
offer it to you, while we would be satisfied with 
the sum our father named for you.” 

“ Not another word, Wilhelm,” broke in 
Carl, hastily. “ I do not know how much our 
father possessed ; but this is neither here nor 
there. I shall take the fifty thousand gulden, 
and be very grateful that my father has so well 
provided for me. I have a family, for whose 
sake I think I have a right to enlarge my pro- 
perty, if I can do so in an honest way ; but 
more I will not take than the sum my mother 
wished me to get ; and whatever she did, must 
by me be considered right and proper, and 
therefore I shall accept that much and no 
more. I should not know what to do with 
great wealth. In fact, I do not actually need 
the fifty thousand gulden. We have enough 
for our wants — even more — and always were 
happy and contented with what we have. It 
is a different thing with you ; for you are city- 
bred, have more necessities and wants than 
we, and therefore would miss being less rich 
than before. No, no; thanks for your well- 
meant offer; but I could not accept it. By- 
the-by, I noticed that you said we: are you 
married also ? ” 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP, 239 

“ Not yet,” answered Wilhelm, and a happy 
light came into his eyes ; “ but when a year is 
passed I shall call my love my own.” 

“ I am glad to hear it, brother ; I wish you 
all happiness. And now, will you tell me all 
about your past ? ” Carl threw himself in a 
listening attitude, while Wilhelm commenced 
his relation. 

When he had finished, his brother took his 
hand, shaking it enthusiastically, and said : 
“You will be happy, Wilhelm. It cannot be 
otherwise with such a wife as your Aureola. 
My wife must know her too, and also Mathilde. 
They will all like each other, I am sure.” 

“ I hope to see you all at my wedding ; for 
I could not do without my only relations. But 
about your wife, brother?” and a shade of 
anxiety crossed his features ; “ have you told 
her?” 

“ Nothing, as yet. And now listen to my 
proposition. I have thought the matter well 
over, and came to this conclusion : I never yet 
had a secret from rny wife, and had, until now, 
no cause to repent me of my course; but this 
matter, in a certain way, concerns you more 
than me ; that is, it would pain you more to 
have it spoken of. Therefore consider it your 
secret, which I have no right to disclose. So, 


240 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

if it pleases you, we will let it remain only 
with ourselves.” 

'‘Thanks, brother, thanks!” and Wilhelm’s 
eyes glistened with unshed tears at the pros- 
pect that his disgrace, as he would call it, 
should not be known further. 

“You look upon the case from the wrong 
side, Wilhelm. There is only one person in 
the whole affair that had need to call himself 
disgraced and feel ashamed, and that is cer- 
tainly not you, but my uncle Seppel, the cause 
of all the trouble. I shall not say anything 
against him, for he is dead, and even my mo- 
ther forgave him ; but his is the disgrace, his 
the crime. Let this be the last word spoken 
on the matter. We are brothers; let that be 
enough for us both.” And the two brothers 
embraced in silence, each feeling too much for 
words. 

“ But how will you manage about my intro- 
duction to your wife ? ” 

“Wait and see. Let us resume our walk 
now ; Wilhelmine will expect me.” 

When Mrs. Waldheim saw her husband 
enter the room accompanied by a gentleman 
resembling him in such an extraordinary man; 
ner, she looked greatly puzzled ; but Carl 
Waldheim soon relieved her by going up to 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BEACH SHEER. 24I 

her, saluting her with a hearty kiss, saying, 
smiling, “ My dear, I bring you here a relation 
of mine, only just discovered. Do you not 
think we look sufficiently like each other to be 
called brothers ? ” 

“You certainly do,” answered the lady, 
greeting Wilhelm with a pleasant smile ; “ and 
I could wish that this gentleman were *a bro- 
ther of yours.” 

“Well, to please you, darling, and also to 
gratify myself, we have agreed to call our- 
selves so. Wilhelm, this is your sister Wil- 
helmine, and this little lady is our pet, Mathilde, 
the songstress whom you heard yesterday.” 
With these words he brought into the fore- 
ground a girlish figure, full of sunshine, blushes, 
and smiles, and introduced her to Wilhelm 
Waldheim. “And now, Frau, (wife,) we are 
hungry. What about dinner ? ” 

“ It will be ready in a short time. Shall we 
take a walk in the garden first ? ” 

“ If the others like it. What say you, bro- 
ther ? ” 

“ With pleasure, Carl,” and he offered his 
arm to Mathilde. 

“ Where is our son, Wilhelmine ? ” 

“ He has not yet returned from his lessons, 
but will soon be here.” 

Q 


21 


242 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACRT SHEER. 

As soon as the husband and wife were 
alone — for the young couple had struck into 
a side-walk — Carl answered the questioning 
look of his wife. “ Now, my dear, Wilhelm 
Waldheim is indeed a dear relation of mine, 
of whose existence I became aware only yes- 
terday. He has been seeking me for several 
years, and has only now succeeded in his en- 
deavors. He has placed in my hands a leg- 
acy which a relation of mine and his left for 
me. We two are the only ones of our stock 
left, and therefore we intend to make much of 
each other. This, my darling,” he added, after 
a pause, “ is all I can tell you. It is not my 
secret, Wilhelmine, but his ; and, therefore, I 
have no right to disclose it, even to you. Will 
this satisfy you, so that you will not question 
me further?” 

“ Certainly, Carl,” she answered, readily. “ I 
am no child. What is not yours you cannot 
give.” 

“Thank you ; I knew I could trust you. The 
sum of money I come in possession of is fifty 
thousand gulden.” 

“ This is very much, Carl ; our son will be 
quite wealthy;” and Mrs. Waldheim’s eyes 
shone with joy at the thought of her darling 
boy becoming rich. 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 243 

“Yes, Wilhelmine ; but you will agree with 
me, if I think that he shall not know it until 
we are gone ; he might depend too much on 
it, and so waste the gifts and talents that his 
teachers praise so highly.” 

“ I think you are right, Carl ; he is happy as 
he is. But this gentleman — your brother, as 
you call him, and who looks so like you — how 
much did he get? ” 

“ I don’t know. He is very rich, hc^wever ; 
that I can perceive from the papers I had to 
read. He is a noble fellow, Wilhelmine,” he 
added, with great warmth, “and I rejoice in 
calling him brother. He has suffered much. 
■ If you also can love him as your brother, I 
shall greatly rejoice. Soon he will marry, he 
told me, and wants us .to be present at his wed- 
ding. I think we can manage to go, now that 
we are rich,” he added, looking fondly upon 
his wife. 

Wilhelm remained four weeks with his 
newly-found relatives. Every day they grew 
dearer to each other, for the Waldheims 
thought that brother Wilhelm was altogether 
delightful, and their little son Carl declared it 
the nicest thing in the world to have such an 
uncle. 


244 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

At last the day for parting arrived; so, with 
the positive promise from all to come to his 
wedding, and to keep up, in the mean time, a 
lively correspondence, Wilhelm left the little 
cottage and his brother’s happy family. 

\ 






CHAPTER XXIV. 


THE WORLD S OPINION. 



|OON the world of Seefeld became 
aware of the dissolution of Caroline’s 
engagement, therewith supplying the 
Kaffee-yisiten with a delightfully rare 
morsel of news, and exciting the brains of 
manoeuvring mammas to their utmost. The 
world, of course, called it shocking, audacious, 
outrageous! pitying poor Mrs. Gutmann in the 
most sympathizing manner, congratulating Mr. 
Herder on his wonderful escape, and venting 
upon Caroline their displeasure in the most 
contemptuous expressions ; wondering what 
she expected (for by that time the world also 
had been informed that it was the young lady 
who had wished the engagement to be broken 
off) — how she dared so shamefully to treat a 
gentleman, not only most honorable, but also 
(and that made the whole matter almost ap- 

21 ^ 245 



246 AUREOLA; OR, THE ELA CRT SHEER. 

pear like a crime) so wealthy and highly con- 
nected as Carl Herder ! But — and when 
saying so, the world shook its head solemnly 
— there would yet be a retribution, and Caro- 
line Gutmann would rue the day when she 
had broken with Carl Herder. Not, the world 
said, that this was unexpected — oh, no ! any- 
thing outrageous might be expected from a 
girl brought up as Caroline Gutmann had 
been brought up, and such an end might easily 
have been predicted. It was true — and one 
must give her her due — she had behaved for 
the last few years so remarkably well, and the 
world had flattered itself that its open disap- 
proval had forced her to turn over a new leaf 
and conduct herself in a manner becoming to 
a proper and respectable young lady ; but it 
could easily be perceived, now, that a sense of 
propriety and good manners was not strong in 
her, or else she would not have crowned all 
her former follies with such a deed as this last 
one. Their daughters, said certain fond mam- 
mas, proudly, would never have done such a 
thing — no, never ! and the satisfaction ex- 
pressed in this last never! was so thorough, 
that each listener’s mind must have become 
impressed with the firm belief that there cer- 
tainly could nowhere be found daughters so 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 24 / 

well conducted and well brought up as those. 

But,” those fond, hoping mammas went on 
further to say, “perhaps it was well that Mr. 
Herder had thus been put through : then he 
could better appreciate qualities so entirely 
wanting in his late affianced.” And again the 
listeners became strongly impressed with the 
idea that, should the above-named gentleman 
seek consolation in the smiles of any of those 
well-conducted daughters, he would find no dif- 
ficulty in securing that consolation, receiving 
smiles in abundance, and the bestower of those 
smiles into the bargain, if he wished ! 

Weeks passed thus, but Mr. Herder did not 
seem to wish to be consoled, at least not in the 
manner the world expected ; and, what was 
worse, and still more extraordinary, he still vis- 
ited his former betrothed; and the world looked 
on in surprise, and resolved to wait — to for- 
bear, as they called it — and not be uncharita- 
ble, as yet, to so rich and highly connected a 
gentleman. No; on the contrary, they thought 
it very generous in him — very much so indeed 
— still to keep on a friendly footing with the 
Gutmanns — it was also very wise, the approv- 
ing world asserted ; but in Caroline it was 
abominable, selfish, altogether unwomanly. 
Why, did she mean sho? could keep him at 


248 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

her feet forever, although she had rejected 
him ? Did she think Mr. Herder would con- 
tinue to love her, and never think of forming 
other ties ? The vanity of that girl was some- 
thing unbearable. When, however, Carl Herder 
accompanied her to the gardens, was constantly 
near her at picnics and excursions, and seemed 
to have eyes only for her, not caring for the 
society of other young ladies, then the world 
thought it was entitled to withdraw its good 
opinion of him, pronounce him a fool, and the 
mammas even went so far as to declare that 
to have such a son-in-law would be their death 
indeed ! 

At this critical moment Wilhelm Waldheim 
arrived at home, and the world of Seefeld re- 
joiced at this new prey, watching it with eager 
eye, ready to spring upon it at its first false 
step. “ He had had enough of her (Caroline) 
years ago,” so they said, “ and that fish would 
not come in her net again, although that she 
would try to catch him they had no doubt.” 

Caroline disappointed them this time, to all 
appearances, for she did not try to win Wil- 
helm Waldheim into her train. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

THE WEDDING. 

HUS the year passed, and the world, 
which had kept such a close lookout, 
and had, until now, found nothing to 
lay hold upon, all at once began to 
get excited, and even trembled with a fear that 
its calculations might come to nought, for Wil- 
helm Waldheim now was actually paying at- 
tentions to Caroline Gutmann ! Yes, there 
was no doubt, and gossips’ eyes could not be 
kept shut any longer. Mr. Herder was still 
at her side, but he now seemed to be more the 
escort of her parents, and to leave his former 
place to Wilhelm Waldheim. It even ap- 
peared as if he did it cheerfully, and as if he 
were not pained at being supplanted by a 
rival. “Well, really, that girl was a wonder 
of impudence, coolness, and management; a 
perfect prime-minister in holding the reins and 

249 




250 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

ruling supreme under no matter what gov- 
ernment ; securing a friend where other girls 
usually make the most bitter enemy.” The 
mammas gave up in despair, and listened with 
forced resignation to the announcement of 
Caroline’s engagement with Wilhelm Wald- 
heim. “ She did not require a long courtship 
this time,” they ventured to remark, a little 
spitefully ; and when, after scarcely three 
months had passed, the wedding - day was 
named, they pronounced it as “ remarkably 
soon — in fact, quite an exceptional short en- 
gagement ! ” 

What did Caroline care for the world’s 
opinion ? How could she trouble herself to 
think of it, when she herself was so very hap- 
py — when Wilhelm had succeeded so well 
with his new relations in Switzerland, and Carl 
Herder had now come to consider her, without 
one pang, as his faithful friend and darling sis- 
ter ; when her parents loved Wilhelm as their 
son, and no cloud dimmed their sky, and no 
shadow darkened their future ; when the day 
was fixed which should unite them forever, to 
reward them for their constancy and love ? 

A lovely day — such as a wedding party al- 
ways wishes for — favored Wilhelm Waldheim 
and his bride with its sunshine on their bridal 


AUREOLA; OR, THE ELACH SHEER. 25 I 

day, and made all the guests present on this 
occasion greatly rejoice. 

Wilhelm’s carriage was waiting before his 
house, and his fiery horses, impatiently pawing 
and chafing at the delay, were gayly trimmed 
with bright ribbons, and holding high their 
arched necks as if conscious of the importance 
of the service they were to be engaged in. 
Jacob, whip in hand, and in a span-new suit 
of black cloth, was coaxing them to keep quiet 
until the master should appear, and giving 
the soft cushions of the carriage yet an extra 
smoothing over, when Wilhelm, grave and 
stately, stepped from the hall. With tears in 
his eyes, and almost with reverence, the old 
servant held the carriage door open for him, 
while with trembling voice he said : 

“ Herr Wilhelm, my best wishes go with you 
to-day.” 

“ And who should know this better than I, 
old friend ?” answered Mr. Waldheim, laying 
his hand upon Jacob’s shoulder and looking 
affectionately into his honest eyes. “ I thank 
you from my heart. Jacob, there is none who 
wishes me success more truly than you.” 

“Thinking,” and Jacob detained him still 
longer, “ that you would be pleased if I were 
to drive you myself, I have told old Martin 


252 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACH SHEEP. 

SO.” And with a low bow he closed the 
door. 

“ Thank you, for thinking of it ; if I had not 
had my thoughts occupied with other things of 
late, I should have asked this kind service of 
you myself. However, you always step in at 
the right time.” 

Jacob, with a pleased face, with almost youth- 
ful agility, swang upon his seat, and quickly 
drove the carriage to Mr. Gutmann’s house. 
There Wilhelm was received by Mr. Gutmann 
and his brother Carl Waldheim, who had ar- 
rived, with his family, several days previous, 
and had taken up his abode, according to Car- 
oline’s particular request, at her parents’ house 
instead of, as Wilhelm desired, with himself. 

It was now one o’clock, and at two the cere- 
mony in church was to take place. Caroline, 
as Mrs. Gutmann said, would soon be down to 
receive the guests, with Wilhelm. A short 
time afterward she entered, with Mathilde, and 
soon after her entrance Mr. Herder arrived. 
Soon the house filled with the expected com- 
pany, and the wedding-party was driven to the 
beautifully decorated church. Thence they 
proceeded to “ The Golden Ox,” the first hotel 
of Seefeld, where a grand entertainment was 
provided. Toward evening more guests ar- 


AUREOLA: OR, THE BLACK SHEEP, 253 

rived, such as were only invited for the ball, 
and young and old joined in the dance, which 
lasted until four in the morning ; then the car- 
riage, which was to take the young couple on 
their bridal tour, was announced, the general 
leave-taking commenced, and, with embraces 
and tears, Wilhelm and Caroline departed, to 
be absent for four weeks. 

The day before the wedding 'Caroline had 
exacted a promise from Carl Waldheim that 
he should remain her parents’ guest until her 
return ; and, after he and his wife had given a 
ready assent, she engaged Carl Herder into 
service as particular Cicerone for her hus- 
band’s relations, asking him, as an especial 
favor, to do all in his power to make all things 
pleasant and agreeable for them during Wil- 
helm’s absence; stating that, as her parents 
were too old and too domestic, she could not 
depend upon them to show Carl and his family 
the interesting points which abounded in the 
environs of Seefeld. Mr. Herder answered 
that it would give him the greatest pleasure to 
be their escort, and to be allowed to enjoy 
their company frequently. Therefore, when 
the young married couple had left, and, a few 
days afterward, everything had settled in its 
old track, picnics and excursions were planned 

22 


254 AUREOLA; OR, THE ELACH SHEEP. 

and executed by the small party. Mr. Herder 
was untiring in discovering old ruins and fresh- 
ly-built-up castles, and ancient farm-houses amid 
woods, which he assured them were highly in- 
teresting to visit, being situated amid the most 
romantic surroundings. 

Thus for four weeks they rejoiced in these 
rural pleasures ; and by the time the young 
husband, with his wife, were expected home, 
two hearts had learned to beat quicker when 
in each other’s society, and with fresh delight 
at every new meeting. 




CHAPTER XXVI. 


AFTER THE WEDDING. 



T now was very quiet and lonely in 
Mr. Gutmann’s house. Caroline had 
returned with her husband, and Carl 
Waldheim, with his family, left their 
former quarters to settle for another fortnight 
in their brother s house. But, although Caro- 
line’s parents very much missed their child, 
they knew that she was happy, and bore cheer- 
fully what could not be altered, keeping up a 
constant intercourse of short or longer visits 
between the two houses. 

Carl Waldheim had intended to go home 
soon after his brother’s return from his wed- 
ding trip, but Caroline coaxed them into a 
longer stay, giving as a reason that, as yet, she 
had very scanty opportunity of benefiting by 
their visit. So Carl consented, seeing that his 
wife enjoyed herself very much, and Wilhel- 

255 


256 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

mine also was glad to remain a little longer for 
Mathilde’s sake, who, soon enough, should have 
to reconcile herself again to the comparatively 
quiet life in their mountain home. 

Caroline looked archly at the young lady, 
who, with Mr. Herder by her side, was just 
now blushing prettily at some remark that 
gentleman had whispered into her ear. Carl 
Herder, at the same time, as Caroline was 
watching them, had raised his head, thereby en- 
countering Mrs. Waldheim’s triumphant smile, 
causing him to look conscious, but not ill- 
pleased, at the expression of joy that illumi- 
nated her features. She astonished the com- 
pany presently by a silvery laugh, at the same 
time dancing gayly up and down the room, and 
ending by catching her husband around the 
waist, whirling him around again and again in 
a mad waltz, until they sank exhausted upon 
a seat. When Wilhelm, greatly amused and 
surprised at his wife’s sudden outburst of spir- 
its, asked her what in the world could have 
put her into such a glorious humor, she gave 
another scream of delight, whispering, “ Do 
you not see ? ” and when he, with puzzled ex- 
pression, shook his head and said, “ No,” she 
pulled his hair and called him “a delightful 
blind mole.” 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 25/ 

Carl Herder, who understood all, and knew 
that it was he who had put her into such high 
spirits, laughed good-humoredly, offering his 
arm to Mathilde to take a walk in the garden, 
to which, in blissful ignorance, she gave a will- 
ing consent. 

One day more, and Wilhelm Waldheim and 
his wife would be quite alone. To-morrow 
their guests were to depart. Caroline entered 
Mathilde’s room in the morning to have a long 
last talk with her before her departure, for she 
had come to love the shy, pretty little girl — 
doubly so, as she did not doubt that her own 
secret wishes and plans would soon be real- 
ized. She found the young lady in deep 
thought, and, when she came near, noticed that 
her eyes were filled with tears. Gently she 
laid her arms around the young girl’s neck, 
saying, softly, “ Are these tears a token of re- 
gret that you have to leave us, dear ? ” 

Mathilde tried to smile, but succeeded badly 
in her effort to do so, for her voice trembled 
when she replied, in a low voice, “You have 
all become very dear to me, and the thought 
of leaving you distresses me.” 

Caroline smiled to herself, saying nothing, 
however, only stroking Mathilde’s cheek sym- 
* R 


22 


258 AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

pathizingly. At last she spoke, consolingly: 
“You know, dear, that you will soon return.” 

The girl blushed deeply, but remained silent. 

“ So he has not yet spoken,” Caroline said 
to herself. “ Cruel wretch, to torture this in- 
nocent, timid heart.” Then she asked, aloud, 
“ Am I not right, Mathilde — do you not know 
that ? ” 

“ How should I know ? ” and her low voice 
was tearful and full of pain. 

“Next year Wilhelm and I shall come to see 
you all, and then, if you wish it, we shall be 
glad to bring you back with us,” said Caroline, 
adroitly giving the conversation a turn. 

Mathilde, however, did not seem to be com- 
forted ; her countenance remained sad and 
thoughtful, and she had evidently no inclina- 
tion to converse. Therefore, Caroline said: 
“ Come with me, dear; it is the last day of your 
stay. I think I heard Mr. Herder’s voice ; he 
will spend to-day with us.” 

A bright blush suffused Mathilde’s features 
at the mentioning of that name, and she prom- 
ised to be down directly if Caroline would pre- 
cede her. 

So Mrs. Waldheim went down stairs alone, 
finding Carl Herder in the room quite by him- 
self. “ Good morning, Carl ; you have come 


AUREOLA; OR, THE ELACH SHEER. 259 

to say farewell to our guests ? I hope you in- 
tend to remain with us all day ? ” 

“ If you allow me, I shall be pleased to do 
so. But — you seem to be not in very good 
humor: what has happened? ” 

“Nothing has happened, as yet; and this is 
what angers me, Carl Herder,” Caroline re- 
plied shortly, and giving no smile in return. 

“ But you will surely tell me what I have 
done to displease you, for it is evident that I 
am the object of your dissatisfaction.” 

“ I am glad you have the good sense to dis- 
cover that much, and hope you will go still far- 
ther and discover the cause of it. Here comes 
dear Mathilde. I have to attend to my house- 
hold duties, so good-by for the present. Ma- 
thilde, darling, you have recovered your bright 
looks again. I am glad to see you cheerful 
and smiling on the last day of your stay.” 
Then, with almost a threatening look at Mr. 
Herder, she left the room. 

That gentleman smiled to himself, for he 
thought he had now found out the reason of 
Caroline’s displeasure. “You are sad at hav- 
ing to leave your friends, if I understand Mrs. 
Waldheim’s words rightly? Dare I flatter 
myself that I am included among those whom 
you will regret? ” and his voice sounded very 


26 o AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 

tender and loving, causing Mathilde’s heart to 
beat, and making the blood tingle in her ears 
from secret delight. 

“ Why should I not include you also, Mr. 
Herder,” she replied, timidly; “you also have 
been so very kind to us.” 

“Would it please you very much if I should 
not leave you ? ” He was now close by her, 
watching anxiously the tell-tale play of her 
transparent features. 

She raised her eyes quickly to his, but 
dropped them hastily again when she saw how 
earnestly he regarded her, and said, in a faint 
voice, “ What do you mean ? It is I who have 
to leave.” 

“ But, if I should accompany you to Switzer- 
land ? I have never been in that country of 
mountains and avalanches.” 

“ Oh, if you would ! ” cried the artless girl ; 
but then blushing deeply at her audacity, she 
tried to add, quietly, “ My brother and sister 
would be very much pleased.” 

Although he had no need to ask any more 
— for the flash of joy that shone from her eyes, 
and the bright radiance that lit up her counte- 
nance, were answer enough — yet he wished to 
hear her sweet voice tell him what he loved so 
much to listen to ; therefore he asked : “ But 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 261 

you, Mathilde, would it please also? ” He 
had to stoop down to hear the low “Yes” 
that fell from her lips, and that filled his heart 
with joy. 

When Caroline, after nearly an hour’s ab- 
sence, re-entered the room, she found Mathilde 
alone, bright, and softly singing to herself ; she 
informed Mrs. Waldheim, with sparkling eyes, 
of Mr. Herder’s intention of visiting Switzer- 
land. Caroline nodded approvingly, while 
listening to the joyful news, and leaving the 
room quickly, encountered that gentleman 
himself, whom she patted patronizingly upon 
the back, saying, with a bright smile, “ You 
please me, Carl ; your talent for discovering 
one’s wishes is gratifying, and the idea of your 
visiting Switzerland is the most crowning 
proof of your great intellect.” Then she 
added seriously, “You love her from your 
heart, Carl ? ” 

“With my whole heart, Caroline,” he an- 
swered, looking honestly into her questioning 
eyes. 

“ She deserves it, and you will be very hap- 
py, Carl, as you deserve to be,” she finished, 
with tears in her eyes. 

They were all gone, and Mathilde had not 
looked at all disconsolate as she nodded her 


262 AUREOLA; OR, THE B L A C K S H E E P. 

last farewell from the carnage window. Mr. 
Herder sat by her side, and also waved a joy- 
ful adieu to his friends. 

Several weeks after their departure, Caro- 
line received a letter from Mathilde, the con- 
tents of which she hurried to impart to her 
husband, who was in his study. “ Listen, Wil- 
helm,” and she read to him as follows : 

“My Dearest Caroline — I am very hap- 
py. Yesterday I became the promised wife 
of Carl — Carl Herder. He will remain with 
us a few days longer, and then continue his 
travels, after that. In six months he wishes 
our wedding to take place, and then I shall al- 
ways be in dear, dear Seefeld, and near you. 
The parting from my sister and brother and 
little Carl will be very hard, but we shall visit 
each other frequently. What joyful conse- 
quences your wedding has brought for us 
all ! ” 

“ Now, Wilhelm,” said Caroline, refolding 
the letter, “ you know the reason of my high 
spirits on that evening. Do you not, you 
dear, blind mole ? ” 

“ How far-seeing you women are ! ” said her 
husband, fondly. “ I am glad Carl is happy 


AUREOLA; OR, THE BLACK SHEEP. 263 

now. And you, Aureola ? ” and he encircled 
her with his arms, looking tenderly into her 
eyes, “are you also happy? and have you never 
repented of having married, a — ” 

“A dark, darling gypsy?” she interrupted 
him. “ Of what use are such questions, dear- 
est ? Why repeat to you stale news ? ” 

“ Because I love to hear it. Aureola,” he said, 
drawing her nearer to him ; “ because it is my 
delight to hear you say that you are happy.” 

“Well, then, darling, I am very happy, and 
never shall be otherwise as long as your love 
is mine ; ” and she laid her head contentedly 
upon his breast, pressing his hands to her lips 
in perfect happiness. 

“And your parents. Aureola, shall they 
never know ? ” 

“What good could it do? You have told 
me, who alone ought to have known it. It has 
made you, if possible, dearer to me. Does not 
that suffice you ? ” 

“ Have your wish, dearest, if only you are 
satisfied.” 




4 « 







» • • 










» 


% 









♦ 


4 


V 



ft 


« 




4 


\ 


% 


> 




% 

I 


t 


.• » • 





ft 






« 


ft 


ft 


ft 


♦ 


ft 


4 





\ ' 


4 


•«> 


I 


<1 


\ 



ft 


P 


• ft , 


4 m 

•r.'»ft; 








I 




# 


* 

< ^1 


i 






1 


J 


I 






I 



f' 



i. 

! 




\ 

I < 


1 


t 


' •> i 



*1 
^ • 


» 


• i 





I- 

f 







\ 





I 




,v* 






.I'l 


I ' I, 






• * 

« V t ' » 

C ^ 4 

^ O 


4 O- * 

i/> ^ ^ 



"o V 



■'^ _4 
^ 0 







- -x. -iP 'i‘.f- ■=" V 






> ■% ■4-' •> >- 

• ^ ' ® ♦ o V4 c ® " ® ♦ ■'^ . o'^ » ^ ' * ♦ A 

^ * «-s5^ C A 'y'T^ •» '-5 






"I c> 


O N O 



' 





O N O 



,0" ^ 



■* 47 *» 

“4 ^ • ts ^ •♦ 

r,V i » • 

.0 t* - '^ 



c o " « -0 


< O * 
a> ^ 



4° '. 


O N 0 




O' 





4. O. 

IL^ y<» 



: '/'V 


t • o. 



• c-C^s5^^ ^ 


' A'^ i-. 




^ 4 



> v<V 

■» <1,1^ CV 

9 , ^ * AV O 4^ 

\y ^ 


V « 




! 


^ * 



• ^ <^ » 
- Vp V • 



« « 




^ 9 fk 




o 



: 0^ / 



• *5 ' 29 '' ^ 

'o . * - A 

c «> 

• _ ^ • 




aV' <> 

^ o >» o ^ 

:>!.>c^/::v-.- . 0 ^ *. •.. 

s. ■» '^'v ° • \V'^ 


• ^ 




-» ^-» . o » o 

\ . .•^■^ «'i^4r, c- . 

V . ^ Q\ 




< o 

•' <>^ O 6 - „ 

\v ^ o I 

«> ^^illwL?^ • '^#- 

-.-a... ^ 







♦ C' 


*" ^ ^ ^ 

* ♦ J' 

V 

aV ■■.. '••>' . 0 ^ ^^ ■»••• 

^**®™*^**^^ %■ (P °o j-i-'^' .‘ ° " ■’ 







c' 5 - ♦ 

in c^ 


-iv*^ .'r’s'. ’'■=‘ 




